


From Which Star Have We Fallen?

by RedSneakers



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abortion, Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, Threats of Violence, pregnant fic, romanogers - Freeform, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSneakers/pseuds/RedSneakers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanoff knew that she had to always open herself to the impossibles. She saw aliens with her own eyes. She saw legendary gods of Asgard. However, nothing prepared her for something so... ordinary. Pregnancy. Yes, she was pregnant with Steve's baby. </p>
<p>Here's the thing, though: she didn't love Steve. And she was sure as heaven and earth that Steve didn't love her.</p>
<p>Things would have been a lot easier if she had been dying instead of pregnant. Or so she thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop and a huge love for romanogers
> 
> OMG! I know! There have been a lot of pregnant!Natasha fics lately and I am so very sorry that I take this subject as well. This idea has been stuck inside my head for a couple of weeks now and it won't go away. So I decided to write it. I sure hope that it isn't disappointing.
> 
> I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine. Please feel free to tell me if you find any mistakes on it. And please, if the characters are OOC, tell me about it. I am fairly new to this fandom and I'd love to learn more about everyone. 
> 
> Thank you, and I'm going to shut up now so you can read.

_Pregnant_.

Natasha glared at the one word in the medical report she was holding; it was as if by staring long enough at it the word would rearrange itself into something less... impossible? Scary? Offensive?—she couldn’t even put a word into it.

Her being pregnant wasn’t supposed to happen—no, scratch that. It wasn’t even _possible_ to happen in her case. For years she had been made to believe that she would never be able to carry a child (not that it mattered to her; it would have been stupid anyway to have children considering her line of work), and yet the piece of paper in her hand annulled everything she’d believed.

“Agent Romanoff?”

Natasha tensed; her head immediately whipped upward, away from the paper. She was so lost in her thoughts that she had actually forgotten she was still inside S.H.I.E.L.D’s medical facility. 

The doctor must have seen the change in her. He repeated, “Agent Romanoff? Are you alright?”

There were no words at first when Natasha opened her mouth, but it took her only a nano-second before her instinct kicked in. The agent quickly schooled her expression—expertly slipping into a calm persona that hid her true self—and smiled brightly. She assured the doctor that she was just surprised the pregnancy could be detected very early; she didn’t expect to know for sure for at least another couple of weeks or so.

“So you’ve known already?” the doctor confirmed; he was still frowning.

“Not exactly—no. But I am expecting this.”

“Oh, you are?” The crease on his forehead was completely gone now at the beaming answer. He smiled back at Natasha.

“Of course,” lied Natasha without blinking.

She must have been very convincing because the doctor offered congratulation instantly and proceeded to talk about technical stuff concerning the pregnancy. He was so busy explaining he didn’t realize Natasha wasn’t even listening to him. The good doctor didn’t even find it odd when the redhead asked him not to tell anyone about her pregnancy; he probably thought that most women wanted to share the good news herself.

He didn’t take into consideration that Natasha Romanoff was not most women.

* * *

Natasha made her way around S.H.I.E.L.D building like it was just an ordinary day in the life of Natasha Romanoff; like she didn’t have in her pocket a small piece of paper which content had just turned her life upside-down, like there wasn’t another heart beating in her body other than her own. Natasha glared at people she usually glared at, ignored those she usually ignored, and nodded at the ones she usually nodded at. She was wandering aimlessly around the building and people who met her didn’t even have a single idea.

She found herself at the open rooftop of one of the smaller S.H.I.E.L.D buildings. She didn’t know how she got there—she didn’t remember going into any of the elevators—but she knew where she should go. Natasha forced her feet to move to that particular one spot on the roof that was blind to the security camera (she and Clint made sure it stayed that way); not until she reached the spot did she let her shoulders sag.

How? _How_?! She was careful—god, she was always careful; even if she wasn’t, this was impossible. There had to be a mistake, a glitch somewhere in the system. Anything but _this_. How on earth a woman _designed_ to be infertile to be pregnant all of a sudden?! Natasha swore that had the test result shown that she developed cancer or other deadly viruses, she wouldn’t have batted an eye—she had been exposed to god-knew-how-many unknown medical experiments back in her Red Room days to be surprised by this. But no, of course it was never that simple for her. And yes, she did think that being pregnant was a lot more complicated than dying.

She fished the medical report from her thigh pocket and reread it, vainly hoping that she had read wrong the first time. When it didn’t do anything but stare back at her tauntingly, Natasha crumpled the paper in her hand and started to chuckle darkly for being so naïve.

The chuckle soon gave way to a full-blown laughter that quickly turned into a series of choked sobs that left her body shaking like a leaf. Natasha leaned on a wall on her right for support, knowing fully well that she had moved from the blind spot and that people watching the cameras could now see her—but she found that she didn’t give a damn. Let them see her.

Natasha wiped at her eyes even though she knew that there wasn’t any tears. She clutched at the chest with the hand holding the paper, and for once in years she let herself feel. For once she let herself admit that she was scared. This was unlike anything she’d ever been through before and she didn’t know how to proceed. She was off balance. Natasha was scared for what was in front of her—she would be compromised and be an easy target. And her baby: her baby would be an even easier target.

Her baby. Natasha gasped sharply as something dawned on her—what should she tell the others? How would she break the news? Or, probably more importantly, how would the father take the news? Would he hate her? Would he hate the baby—considering the circumstances between him and her? The agent subconsciously moved her hands and put them on her still flat stomach as if wanting to protect the baby inside. She was all it had.

* * *

 

The sun was setting when Clint spotted Natasha near their usual spot, the exact spot that Maria mentioned the redhead had been standing at for hours. He wasn’t sent here—not officially; Maria just hinted it was a bit alarming to see Natasha not having moved from the same spot since before lunchtime. The high-ranking agent also pointed out that she didn’t want to do anything rash when it came to Black Widow herself. So yeah, Clint wasn’t sent here—he was there on his own accord.

Clint made sure that he was visible to Natasha but he didn’t try to approach her. There was no indication Natasha knew he was there. Clint knew better. And he also knew better than to approach without invitation. So he stayed where he was: waiting, and watching. Besides, Clint always preferred to look at something from afar—it gave him more perspective. This time was no different. It took him a glimpse of the redhead to know that she was, for lack of better word, in distress.

The signs were subtle; had he not been familiar with Natasha’s body language it would have been impossible to see it. As Clint watched, his trained eyes spotted something in Natasha’s hand. He suspected it was the culprit of this near-breaking-down Natasha in front of him.

Having counted to ten and decided he had given Natasha enough time to realize his presence, Clint took one tentative step forward and waited for Natasha to yell at him to stay put. When that didn’t happen, Clint shrugged and took it as an invitation to approach. He walked in a leisurely pace, though, still giving Natasha a chance to tell him off. The word never came and soon he was standing next to the woman.

“Hey,” he said with a grin. No answer. “Tanning?” Still no answer. “Practicing to be a mute?” This time he got a reaction. Natasha rolled her eyes. “What? Anything is possible when it comes to you,” said Clint defensively. He sat down on the hard concrete and tugged at the fabric of Natasha’s calf. The redhead didn’t look at him but she followed his lead and sat down, leaning to rest her head on his shoulder.  Clint could sense the tension. “What’s wrong?” he softly asked.

She shrugged but offered no answer; she felt exhausted. Natasha had spent half her day thinking—or hiding—and she didn’t feel better at all. On the contrary, she felt heavier. She closed her eyes when Clint’s hand slid over her own and softly tapped at the paper she was holding. Natasha loosened her grip on it to let him take it.

Natasha winced internally when she heard Clint’s sharp intake of breath as the man read her medical report. She gritted her teeth to slow down the frantic beating of her own heart, dreading Clint’s reaction. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to know his reaction.

Next to her, Clint had to reread the report twice before he was sure that he was really reading what he was reading. Again, he counted to ten—giving himself a chance to think how to react. It wasn’t bad news, really, not something he had dreaded before he read. It was great news. At least for him it was: something worth celebrating. Yet, judging from how Natasha looked at the moment, she had to be thinking otherwise.

“Wow,” he finally managed a word. “Wow.”

“Don’t,” Natasha whispered softly. “Don’t say it.” She dreaded what Clint would say next: the barrage of questions that she herself was unable to answer. Not now. Not when she was still too confused and not before she decided her next step. She closed her eyes when hot tears began to fill her eyes as she felt Clint began to open his mouth to speak. However, Clint’s next words were nothing she had imagined he’d ask.

 “When are you telling Steve?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: see chapter 1
> 
> Hey guys, it's me again. Thanks a lot for reading the first chapter and for the kudos; I really appreciate it.
> 
> WARNING: this chapter may hint on some dubious consent (which I will explain in the next chapter), so if it triggers you, please skip this one. You're not missing anything, I promise. 
> 
> I think it's only fair that I tell you my story is going to have quite a slow pace because I don't like to rush things up (and because it throws me off balance when I try to quicken my pace). So, if what you're looking for is a quick fix, you may want to stop reading now. 
> 
> This chapter is basically only a little 'chat' between Clint and Nat (and I seriously think that Nat sounded very OOC - sorry about that). 
> 
> Okay, I'm going to shut up now and let you read and judge for yourself. 
> 
> Again, thank you for taking your time to read my little drabble.

Natasha lifted her head abruptly and stared at Clint with her mouth agape; questions upon questions raced in her mind and she didn’t know which to ask first. How did he know about Steve? Oh god, if he knew then… “Who else knows?”

“What?” asked the archer, “About your pregnancy? I don’t think anybody kno…”

“About Rogers,” Natasha cut him off impatiently. She swallowed hard. “Who else knows about me and Rogers?”

“Oh.” A pause, “That.”

“Clint!”

“Whoa.. whoa! Relax, Nat!” Clint was immediately on his feet as his peripheral caught Natasha taking out an electrical disk from her pocket. “No need for that!” When there was no sign that she was going to put it away, he lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Nobody knows! Okay? Nobody knows!”

Natasha squinted suspiciously at Clint but the man didn’t seem to be lying to her. She didn’t put the disk back into her pocket, though. “Then how did _you_ find out?”

“I didn’t.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know. I was teasing you, goddamn it!”

This time the Black Widow didn’t hesitate. She threw the disk at Clint, who didn’t duck fast enough, and charged it. The bulky man fell to his knees, doubling over in pain and groaning as shots of electrical currents hit him. He tried to crawl away from Natasha, but the pain slowed him down and soon she was straddling him.

“Nat, don’t!” That was all that he managed to say before her fist connected with his left cheek. It hurt like hell, for sure, but for some reasons Clint didn’t deflect her wild punches. He didn’t even attempt to flip her when he had the chance (not because of the baby, really). He simply let her lash out on him until he felt her shake on top of him and the punches no longer came.

A strangled sob escaped her lips and Natasha put her both hands on her mouth in vain effort to muffle it. She didn’t fight him when Clint sat up and pulled her to his chest. Natasha buried her face into the crook of his neck and cried again. Frustrated. Confused. Trapped. It was like Budapest all over again – but this time she screwed up even worse.

“Sorry,” Clint offered after some time, when Nat’s cried had turned into muffled hiccups and her breathing wasn’t as frantic. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Fuck you,” growled Nat, “I hate you.”

“I deserved that.”

“And some more.”

Clint nodded. “And some more.” They were silent again for some time with her still sitting on his lap. He was the one who broke the silence. “How?”

She stiffened, knowing fully well what he was referring to. “I don’t know,” she said.

“You fucked Rogers and you didn’t know how it happened? Wow, Nat, you’re losing your touch.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Natasha pushed him playfully and he grinned. The redhead slid off his lap but her head was still resting on his chest. Not looking at her friend, she mumbled, “I don’t understand this. It’s not supposed to happen – hell, Clint, it’s not even medically possible!”

He sighed, the gears in his brain working. He knew Natasha’s medical condition – she told him about it. “And yet it is happening,” he remarked matter-of-factly. “You know, it was a bit of a rash decision for you not to use any protections and still let him… y’know… inside.” Clint motioned vaguely, slightly embarrassed that he was having this talk with her.

“Very subtle, Barton.”

“No need to be rude, Nat,” replied Clint.

“God, it was a one-time thing.” She shook her head against his chest.

“Why did you do it? I mean,” he quickly clarified himself when Natasha lifted her head to shoot him a murderous glare, “When? How? I didn’t know you and him were dating or something.”

“We weren’t dating,” snapped Natasha. She drew a deep breath. “Remember my Oymyakon case? A few weeks back?”

Clint shrugged absently as he tried to remember which mission it was. (They had been on several other missions in the past few weeks, and sometimes it was difficult to keep track, especially when you were not allowed to talk about it with others – a rule that Natasha and Clint had broken in a regular basis). He repeated the name several times in his head until it came to him.

It was one of the stupid missions that resulted on their losing five fine agents. He remembered that Natasha had returned from it with a blank look in her eyes, one which didn’t go away until after he dragged her to the gym to do yoga for a whole night. And he vaguely remembered that Steve was in the same mission. But he didn’t remember much about the Captain’s state of being – it hadn’t been Clint’s concern.

“I got us trapped,” Natasha spoke slowly, breaking his train of thoughts. “In a bunker. Under layers of ice. With dying people.” She shuddered at the memories that came rushing back to her. “No – with dead people,” she rectified after a beat. “We were losing body heat, fast. I was dying. And he was in shock.” She shook her head, unable to continue. But she knew Clint understood that Steve had been reliving a trauma of being buried in ice; that was enough to mess anyone’s brain.

“Does he remember?”

“I don’t think so. He was too delirious and he didn’t say anything afterward.” She scoffed and added darkly, “I practically took advantage of Captain America.”

Clint gripped her by the shoulder and forced her to look at his eyes. “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t do that to yourself, Nat. You did what you had to do to survive. You were saving the both of you. He owed you his life.”

“No, he didn’t!” Natasha said. “He’d survive the ice. It is  _I_ who owed _my life_ to _him_. _I_ was the one who’s dying!”

“And do you think it’d make him feel better if he knew that he let you die? Nat, he’d be oozing with guilt.”

“He wouldn’t. He didn't have any reason to be – it wouldn’t be his fault.”

“Right, like that fact would change anything!” Clint yelled back, shoving Natasha not too gently as he got to his feet. He really hated it when Natasha did this to herself, beating herself up for something she had no control of.

Natasha got to her feet too, anger bubbled like hot coals on her head. And Clint’s next words added fuel to the fire.

“What now? You’re going to attack me again for saying the truth? Sorry, Nat, I’m not in the business of hurting pregnant women.”

“Fuck you, Barton,” spat Natasha.

The two trained assassins glared at each other, not moving an inch from where they were standing. Both were acutely aware of security cameras and of the fact that people might be watching. And like it was on cue, just at that moment the elevator door slid open behind Clint. The tensed – Natasha’s posture rigid as she saw who walked out of the elevator. The last person on earth she wanted to see now; Steve.

Steve Rogers didn’t know what he expected when he went to the rooftop. He was on his way out of the control room when he saw something on one of the security cameras that piqued his interest. And as he took a closer look, his interest turned to worry. That was why he decided to check.

“Everything okay, guys?” the Captain called out, testing the water.

Natasha shot Clint a warning glance.

“Yeah, Cap, all’s good – we’re just having a chat here,” Clint said, to Natasha’s relief.

“Natasha?”

“Like Clint said, Rogers,” the red-haired woman replied curtly. She walked past Clint, throwing him another look before going straight to the elevator. Natasha had to remind herself not to flinch as Steve gallantly stepped aside to give her access to the elevator. She didn’t even spare the captain a glance as she stepped into the elevator and pushed the ‘close’ button before either man could follow her.

The metal box hadn’t even moved two floors when Natasha’s phone alerted her of a text message. She knew who’d be texting her, and no matter how much she wanted to ignore it, she knew she couldn’t. Leaning her back on the cool glass behind her, Natasha took out the phone. It was from Clint, like she had suspected, and it only consisted of two words:

‘Tell him.’

 

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: See chapter 1
> 
> Yes, here I am with the next chapter. This is a short one because I have to work but I promise myself to write something every day. I don't know how long I can keep posting daily, but I'm going to try. And I am intending to finish this one, so please feel free to nudge me and remind me to write if I don't update without explanation for more than three days. 
> 
> This story has practically taken a life of its own. This wasn't what I planned for. But I think I know where I want to take this and I hope that you're going to join me in this roller coaster ride. Thank you for reading, leaving comments, and leaving kudos. You are all a star. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter hinted a little about sexual content but nothing explicit (I don't know how you guys write explicit sexual content without blushing! You guys need to teach me!).
> 
> I'm going to shut up now. Enjoy the ride.

_“Natasha?”_

_She struggled to open her eyes – once, twice, until she finally could force the lids to open. Steve was staring at her; seeing, but not really seeing._

_“I’m… tired,” she whispered almost inaudibly. Her eyes began to flutter close again, and it would have – if Steve hadn’t called out her name more firmly._

_“Natasha!” He shook her. “Natasha, hey! C’mon, ‘Tasha, stay with me.”_

_She shivered and felt Steve pulled her impossibly closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she said. What little body heat they shared had no longer had effect on Natasha; she felt colder than ever and she knew that she was dying._

_“Don’t say that,” Steve chided. “C’mon. Tell me – tell me what I can do?” He was beginning to panic. He could feel that her body was growing colder, as was his – but he survived this before and he knew he would again; at least physically, he would. Mentally, though… he didn’t want to think about it. “Don’t leave me.”_

_She could hear the pleading in his voice, the urgency in the last sentence – and she realized something; Steve was afraid. Captain America, afraid. Natasha felt a slight tug in her heart that she couldn’t put her fingers on. What was it? Pity? Sympathy? God, this was probably his worst nightmare and now, thanks to her, he was reliving it._

_Natasha lifted a hand and put it on Steve’s cheek. “You’ll be alright, Cap,” she whispered. He didn’t reply. And he didn’t move when Natasha, very slowly, with the last strength that she had, leaned in and planted a kiss on his other cheek._

_Her lips were ice cold on his skin, and from the clouded look of her eyes he knew she was slipping away. And while a part of him told him that he was going to regret this later, he also knew he had to do something to keep her awake – and alive. So Steve kissed her. On her cheek. On her forehead. And after exchanging a long look with the pair of green eyes, he kissed her on her lips._

_“You.. you’re going t-to regret this, C-ccap,” Natasha hissed, teeth chattering as she tried to speak. She clung to Steve desperately, searching for more warmth from the solid body on top of her._

_“It’s keeping you alive,” Steve replied as if it was a good enough reason. His lips were still on hers and his hands started rubbing circles on her back, creating friction – generating heat._

_She sighed and kissed him back, trying so hard not to think about the consequences that they might have to face later. He was going to hate himself for letting her use him because he was too much of a gentleman to hate her, and Natasha was going to hate him for blaming himself instead of her. But like what he said – and what he didn’t say; this would keep her alive. And it, in turn, would keep him sane._

_She closed her eyes and let herself feel nothing else but the way Steve’s hands move on her skin. Consequences be damned._

…

Natasha jolted awake with Steve’s name on her lips. Her head was pounding and she was sweating despite the cool temperature of her room. She lifted a shaky hand to wipe her brow, frowning as her gaze fell to the digital clock by her bed. It was only a little past midnight.

She lay motionlessly on her back, staring absently at the ceiling while waiting until her heartbeat returned to normal. Random thoughts crossed her mind but she let them pass, not lingering on any particular one. She was still sleepy, but the thought of going to sleep was not appealing to her. She decided to get up.

Changing into her workout clothes, Natasha consciously avoided looking at her stomach. She didn’t want to deal with her pregnancy yet, which was futile, because she could not think of anything else ever since she learned that there was another life growing inside of her. The red-haired agent shook her head as she tried to gain some control of herself.

She grabbed a yoga mat and went for the balcony, hoping that fresh air could help calm her faster. She wanted to go running, but she wasn’t sure that it would be great for the baby. Natasha winced at the thought. It wasn’t twenty-four hours yet and here she was, already switching her priority.

“Stupid,” she thought aloud as she sat down on the mat. Yes, stupid. She wasn’t even sure yet if she was going to keep the baby; at the moment she was almost eighty percent sure she wasn’t going to – having a baby was only going to complicate things. For one, people were going to ask questions when the baby started to show. Then there was this problem with Fury. That man would demand to know how it happened and who the father was. She couldn’t – and wouldn’t – lie to him. And it would bring her to her next problem, Steve. Really, it wasn’t like she could march in front of Captain America and tell him that he was going to be a father, was it? That would be scandalous. Besides, what could he do anyway? Offer to marry her? Ridiculous.

Yes, she was quite certain that she wasn’t going to keep it. Simple as that.

However, was it really that simple? As Natasha meditated, she knew that she grew more and more restless instead of the opposite. She squeezed her eyes shut more forcefully, trying to get back on focus. Yet, all she could see was Steve’s face only inches from her own, black and blue from the cold and the battle. All she could hear what his pleading of her not to leave him.

The spy shook her head again and the image shifted. This time it was a child with hair as red as her own and eyes as blue as Steve’s. The child was looking at her, pleading, a hand stretched out to her. “Mommy.”

 Natasha gasped audibly, thrown out from her mediation. Pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead in hope that it would stop the migraine that was coming, Natasha muttered, “I’m going crazy.”

It was then when her phone alerted her of a text message. She went inside to retrieve her phone and saw several missed-calls and at least two text messages from Clint, which she ignored. The last message was from Maria.

‘Opera in Fl. Tickets sold out. Star included. See you in twenty.’

New mission. With Steve Rogers.

Natasha sighed. She had a really bad feeling about this.

 

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: See chapter 1
> 
>  
> 
> *inhales, exhales* Gosh, this is my longest chapter yet! And since it is now 2.24 am here, I don't think I edited it as much as I should have. So, sorry for any mistakes. 
> 
> I'm not sure about this chapter, tbh. It talks about a mission and everyone who knows me know that I'm only slightly better at writing angst. The fighting scenes are no doubt awkward; I'm learning, though, so please feel free to give me tips. Any constructive criticism is appreciated - but please no bullying. Life is difficult enough without people having to experience cyber-bullying as well. If you don't like the story, just leave. 
> 
> Before I forget, the title of the story is taken from a Friedrich Nietzsche quote; in case anyone of you wondering. 
> 
> Alright, I'm going to stop talking now. Fasten your seatbelts, darling, for it's going to be bumpy. Thanks for reading :)

The flight to Miami had never been more annoying. Their plane had been hitting turbulences since they took off and Natasha had to fight the urge to kick the pilot out of the cockpit to fly the damn thing herself when she banged her head for the third time.

She rubbed the side of her head and muttered curses under her breath. From her peripheral vision she saw that Steve was watching her from his seat; somehow that pissed her off even more.

“You okay?”

The question was posed in genuine concern and Natasha reminded herself not to roll her eyes. “A little bang to the head won’t kill me,” she replied, not quite looking at him.

“You don’t sound okay.”

She replied with an uninterested shrug. There was movement and the next thing she knew, he was sitting next to her. There went her moment of peace.

“Hey.” Steve tilted his head in her direction. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“I don’t know,” replied the Captain truthfully. “About what’s bothering you?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, still not looking at him. “Nothing is bothering me,” she said flatly.

“Something is bothering you,” insisted Steve. “It’s been, what – two hours? We’ve been in the same place for two hours and you haven’t tried to play a matchmaker yet.”

“I thought you don’t want me to find you a date,” Natasha said. This time she turned her head to look at him.

“That’s not the point.” Silent. “Are you having a quarrel with Barton?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s not really your business, is it?”

“No,” he admitted, “But it clearly affects you, which means it may also affect this mission. And _that_ is my business.”

Natasha replied with a dry chuckle. Mission. Of course. “Relax, Cap,” she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, closing her eyes to indicate that she wasn’t going to do any more of this conversation with him. “Next thing you know, we’re flying back to New York.”

Steve frowned and was suddenly hit by a déjà vu. He had heard her say the exact same thing before – not so long ago. That mission had gone wrong in every aspect, and the soldier had to stop the chill that was creeping up his spine at the memory of it. “Well,” he said after a while, “At least for a change they’re not sending us to somewhere cold.”

Her eyes snapped open at the passing comment; her body went rigid and Natasha bit her tongue to stop herself from getting sick. She commanded herself to control herself; this wasn’t the first time they talked about that mission – they had talked about it before, professionally, to evaluate about what had gone wrong. But this was the first time they hinted it since she found out that she was pregnant. And that, apparently, was enough to throw her off balance a bit.

“Yeah,” she finally managed a weak reply.

***

“You sure you’ll go in alone?”

Natasha was getting really impatient with Steve; he had been repeating the same question like a broken record since they laid out the strategy a few minutes before the plane landed – that was six hours ago. She was this close to taking the comm out and leaving it behind.

“Natasha?”

“What?”

“Agent Hill sent me here…”

“As a backup,” she cut him off.

“But...”

“Cap?”

“Yes?”

“One more word and I’ll go in the blind,” she threatened. Silent. _Finally_ , Natasha thought triumphantly, _something that shut him up._ She took a last glance to the mirror before exiting the ladies room, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, Natasha Romanoff was only a shadow behind her eyes. _Let’s do this_.

As the red-haired made her way in the throng of people, she couldn’t help but think about Maria’s text message. The senior agent hadn’t been the one who briefed them before they left and so Natasha was left to decipher the message herself.

She was sure that she didn’t misunderstand the message – get in, get the data, get out. Child’s play. That’s why she didn’t even tell Clint about it before she left (that, and the fact that she was still pissed at him). What she didn’t understand was the need for a backup; there was something Maria was leaving out of the text – and she had a feeling that it was something important, hence the Captain as her backup. Natasha was quite sure that nobody was that stupid to only use Captain America as backups.

“Natasha? Status?”

Natasha sighed. He really couldn’t help himself, could he? “I’m in.” _Now shut up and let me work_ , she wanted to say but didn’t.

She quickly scanned the crowd, mentally taking notes on the number of guards and the number of possible exit doors she could access easily if needed be. The guards didn’t seem to be packing high-tech weapons, which were not unusual considering where they were: an herbal medicine factory. The problem was the cameras – Natasha had counted at least five or six security cameras as she walked, all placed in strategic places that minimize blind spots.

It was easy for Natasha to blend in – to make herself invisible in the crowd despite her noticeable hair color. She had a natural talent to be unnoticed, and that was priceless in her line of work. Smoothly, she switched to one group of people to another until she could see her destination.

She knew she would need an ID to enter the room, so she snatched a passing guard’s ID card and tucked it into her pocket. She hoped that all security guards had the same access or at least that she got the right ID; otherwise, she was screwed.

Looking as natural as possible, Natasha swiped the card and waited until the light turned green before she entered the room. She blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the red light illuminating the room. It was a dark room. Why would a medicine factory need a dark room for? The Black Widow pushed the thought away and looked around to find what she was there for.

She found it. And she groaned when her eyes caught a familiar small symbol embossed to one side of the data portal right before she plugged in her hard drive.

_Fuck_.

“Natasha?” Steve again. “Problem?”

“Nope,” she replied – lying. Whatever it was, the data had to be worth something if the company bothered to hire this bastard to design the data portal to only be accessible to an authorized hard drive. Now she understood why Maria sent a backup team. Natasha was so going to have a word with the other woman later. She made a mental calculation of how much time she had before security guards marched in. Not nearly enough – almost impossible, even. But doable.

She counted to three and plugged the driver in. Immediately a siren blared around her, deafening her for a split second before she started typing commands.

“Natasha?! What happened?”

“I just added some music. Too quiet in here,” she sassed as she typed frantically. She heard footsteps closing in – four; no, at least six people were coming – and Natasha did a countdown till they arrived.

“Natasha, we’re coming in!” Steve decided.

“Don’t you dare, Rogers. I’ve got this,” she yelled to the comm. “Give me five damn minutes!”

“Five minutes!” agreed Steve reluctantly, “Then we’re coming in whether you like it or not.”

As if on cue, the door barged open. Seven guards - damn, she missed one – were at the door; they were heavily armed.

“What’s the problem, gentlemen?” she asked innocently, stalling. She needed at least three more minutes before the data transfer was completed and she was going to buy it no matter what.

One of the guards told her to lift her hands up. Natasha did as told, all the while kept asking calmly what the problem was – she was only doing her job. Her repetitive questions seemed to confuse them a little and they got distracted when her hard drive beeped to indicate all the transfer was complete. She saw an opening. And took it.

With one swift motion, Natasha did a backflip – kicking the nearest rifle pointed at her while grabbing her hard drive with a hand. She landed on one knee and swept her other leg, efficiently bringing two other men to their knees. Doing another counting down until her time was up, Natasha lunged forward with taser disks on her hands. She flung them to the remaining guards and charged it, getting out of the data room as she did.

There were more people outside, but it was nothing she hadn’t faced before so she strategically moved, careful to take more than one man at a time to save time. She needed to make it to the lobby because she knew that those guards would not do anything rash with audience around them.

She was halfway there. Then it hit her; a sudden bout of nausea that rose from the pit of her stomach to her throat and made her dizzy. Natasha breathed in, trying to control the urge to be sick right then and there, but without much success. Her movement was less graceful now, and she found herself missing a couple of target.

“Oh, baby, not now, please,” she muttered.

“What?” It was Steve again.

Oops. “Nothing!” Natasha totally forgot that she was on comm. This was why she hated having backups.

“Your five minutes is almost up, Natasha!”

Right, like she needed that reminder. She didn’t stop moving as she replied, “Gimme 30 seconds.” No reply from Steve side and she suspected he was already on the move. So much for giving her five minutes. The queasiness was getting worse and Natasha was quite sure she was going to be sick all over a guard very soon.

That was before a taser hit her from behind. She felt a little sting before the electric current traveled through her body and she fell to the ground face first, convulsing both with pain and nausea. The relentless spy gritted her teeth and forced herself to move, so she rolled around and tried to get up. She wasn’t fast enough. Another taser was pressed to her chest and Natasha let out a gasp. It was either instinct or a miracle that she could block the next one that was coming – targeting her stomach.

She covered her midsection with one arm and kept trying to get up despite the guards surrounding her. It wasn’t long until she began to lose consciousness. She was almost totally out of it when she saw Steve and her backup team. Her ears were ringing and her eyes fluttered close.

The last thing Natasha remembered before she surrendered to the darkness was Steve kneeling next to her, calling her name. She didn’t remember gripping Steve’s arm like a vice. She didn’t remember speaking to him, saying something that left him speechless.

“My baby,” she whispered. “Steve – our baby.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, thanks a lot for reading and leaving kudos and comments. They make my day!
> 
> So, I have to say that it is hard for me to write this chapter because it deals with a difficult issue. As I don't want to spoil you, I'll just add my explanation at the end note.  
> A warning, though, there is a mention of a possible termination of a pregnancy. Please proceed with caution. 
> 
> Again, thank you very much for reading this! I hope this chapter is readable enough.

Steve had been sitting in the same position next to Natasha’s hospital bed since he was let in by a nurse; the plastic chair he was using looked as if it was going to break under his weight, and despite knowing that there was a more comfortable couch at the far side of the room, he didn’t make any effort to move – keeping vigil next to the unconscious woman.

His eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes – he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the woman in front of him. Every time he closed his eyes he would be assaulted with Natasha’s green eyes looking at him with the same glazed look she’d given him in Oymyakon, when she was about to die. Every time he looked away, he swore he could hear her calling him; he could hear her voice asking him to save her baby – _their_ baby.

At this point he could no longer decide if he was more shaken by the revelation that he was going to be a father, or by the frantic – almost panicked way in which Natasha told him. He had never heard her so afraid before – not even when they were trapped in the bunker – and this fact haunted him.

His thought wandered to that night in Oymyakon and all the memories came crashing in: how they had been ambushed, how Natasha had led them to what she believed was an underground passage but turned out to be a sealed bunker, how the agents had died – one had bled out and two others had frozen to death despite sharing body heat, and how she had almost died too. Steve still remembered how cold her body had been underneath him, and how he had struggled to keep her awake, and how they had finally had desperate sex – one that had kept her alive and kept him from losing his mind.

It had been an act of survival; one about which he had been desperate to talk with her – what for, exactly, he didn’t know – but ended up not say because Natasha never gave him a chance to bring it up. He might not have a lot of experience with women, but he wasn’t stupid. Natasha wanted to pretend that it had never happened. So Steve respected her wish. He told himself that it was better – he didn’t want to complicate things. Besides, maybe if he pretended long enough he could make himself believe that it had, in fact, never happened.

A sudden movement from the bed brought him back from his train of thoughts. He craned his neck to see if Natasha was awake, but apparently she was just shifting in her sleep. He waited a few seconds until she settled before returning to his former position.

Steve had been tempted to reach out to her, to touch her and make sure that she was still there, but he thought that it would be disrespectful. So he just sat there, waiting in silence, and traced the line of her sleeping form with his eyes.

He rubbed his tired eyes with one hand. How did it come to this? God, what did he have to do? Of course the most logical – and respectable – thing to do was to be responsible and ask her to marry him, but was it as easy as it sounded? Time had changed now and a husbandless pregnant woman was no longer frowned upon and shunned as much as it had been in his time. That was one thing. Another thing was Natasha’s feelings for him. He was sure that she had no feelings for him other than the platonic – or maybe even less.

That brought him to his own feelings towards Natasha. He had always admired her – she was strong; she was independent, and she was very responsible. (She did remind him a little of Peggy, but Steve never tried to compare the two; his mother taught him well enough never to compare a woman to another – that was discourteous). Natasha was a good colleague, and he even considered her a friend although he knew that the feelings may only be one-sided. But that was that. He had never thought of her as more than that – not even after Oymyakon.

Steve buried his head in his hands, ignoring the image of piercing green eyes staring at him as he squeezed his eyes shut. What to do? God, this was worse than finding out that he had been lost seventy years of his life.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Natasha?”_

_She found it harder and harder to open her eyes, but the urgency in Steve voice made it hard not to obey. She cracked her eyes open. “I’m tired, Cap,” she mumbled. It was cold. Everything was cold._

_“Stay with me.”_

_“I want to sleep,” she said. She could hardly feel her body – she was freezing to the point of numbness._

_“Stay with me.”_

_Natasha’s eyes fluttered close._

_“Don’t leave me.”_

_“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m just so tired.”_

…

“…’sha? Natasha?”

Natasha woke up to a persistent voice calling her name. She opened her eyes very slowly and was met with a pair of clear blue eyes looking down on her worriedly. For a moment she was disoriented, and being her, Natasha’s first instinct was to attack.

Steve caught her wrist as she began to throw a punch. “Natasha, Natasha it’s me,” he said firmly, hoping that she would recognize him. He felt her tensed but only for a second.

“Cap?” she let out.

He nodded. “Yeah, hey.” He released her wrist and took a step back.

Natasha blinked and sank back down, feeling her back hitting a soft warm mattress instead of cold hard stone. She lifted a hand and rubbed at her head, wincing as she moved. Everything hurt.

“Natasha? You back with me?”

“Yeah,” she replied, unsure. “Why am I in the hospital?”

“You don’t remember?” Steve was alarmed. He moved closer again to the bed.

She frowned and tilted her head, trying to remember. It took her another second before the memory came rushing in – her mission and the bastard that encrypted the data portal and… She gasped. Her head whipped around to Steve’s direction and she stared at him with wide eyes. Natasha opened her mouth but no words came out.

“The baby is fine,” Steve informed her softly, knowing fully well that it was what she wanted to say.

Natasha’s eyes flood with relief at the news, but her relief was short-lived as she realized something. Steve knew. All colors were drained from her face and she stared at the man before her with naked horror.

Despite the calm and collected exterior that he projected as he trained his eyes on her, Natasha could see the raging questions in his eyes – that, and something else that may be translated into either hurt or accusation. She suspected the latter. Natasha looked away; somehow she didn’t know how to look him in the eye.

Steve fidgeted on his spot when Natasha suddenly broke eye contact. He flexed his hands on his sides to calm his nerves as the gears in his brain worked hard to find something – anything at all – to say and break the deafening silence.

He swallowed hard. “Natasha,” he began. “Natasha,” he called her name again, more persistently now that she seemed to resolve to ignore him. He approached the bed but kept a polite distance between himself and the railings of the bed, not wanting to crowd her. His hand shook as he fought the urge to reach out to her, to physically touch her and bring her to look at him. Steve balled his fists until his knuckles turned white. “Natasha, please look at me,” he let out a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” what was she said after she finally found her voice. She closed her eyes and tucked herself behind, like what she did whenever she was sent on a mission. When she looked at him afterwards, her face showed nothing but cold indifference.

“I think you do,” he said firmly.

“Thank you for backing me up?” she offered, sarcastic.

“Natasha,” Steve was almost whining, “Please.”

“This is none of your business, Cap,” Natasha said, insisting in using his title.

“Steve,” he said. Natasha lifted an eyebrow. “My name is not ‘Cap’. It’s Steve.”

“I am well aware of that.” Her hand crept on the mattress, feeling for a call button. “And this is a free country – I can call you whatever I like. It’s not like other people don’t call you that.”

The blond looked as if he was going to strangle her, but his words were calm when he spoke, “You’re not other people.”

She exploded all the sudden. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she spat out, “Listen, _Steve_ , just because we fucked once doesn’t mean that you own me.” The name left a bitter taste in her mouth. It didn’t mean anything to her before, but now that name only reminded her about that damned night. “It’s not like you remember any of it anyway!”

“I do!” Steve roared, slamming his palm to the railing of Natasha’s bed until it dented in the shape of his hand. His patience was running low and this infuriating woman did nothing to help. However, his burst of anger was quickly replaced with regret when he saw Natasha recoiled from him, her fist was balled. Hurt flashed Steve’s eyes at the implication – Natasha actually thought that he was going to attack her.

“Jesus, Natasha – I do remember. I remember _everything_.” His voice was barely above a whisper this time.

“Right.”

“Yes,” Steve hissed, “right. Sarcasm doesn’t work on me, Natasha.”

“Of course not – you’ve probably never heard of it before.”

“Natasha,” he warned.

“Stop calling my name!”

“Then stop avoiding the subject!”

“There is nothing to talk about! I told you that before,” she said, frustrated. Why couldn’t this man take the hint and just leave her? “What else do you want me to say, Rogers? I covered all the basics: we had sex; it was for survival. That’s all about it. What did I miss? Oh, right – _you_ remember, apparently. Thanks for telling me this now. It will certainly make me sleep better at night knowing for certain that I didn’t rape Captain America.”

“Why are you like this?”

“What? Why are _you_ like this?” she retorted.

Steve ran his hand through his hair; this conversation was going nowhere and he was too tired to humor her antics. “I tried, you know?” he said. Ignoring Natasha’s scoff, he continued. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened in Oymyakon, but you never gave me a chance. I thought – I honestly thought that you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“You thought right,” affirmed Natasha.

“But you sounded like you blamed me for not addressing the matter.”

“Oh, please,” Natasha said, “What are we – kindergarteners?”

Before Steve could say anything else, there was a loud knock on the door. Steve immediately turned around when the door was opened from the outside. A doctor and a nurse walked in. Steve gritted his teeth and nodded at them as they told him they were going to check on her. He gave them space but stood in the room, leaning his frame on the wall by the window with his arms folded.

 “Your vitals are stable, Agent Romanoff,” the doctor said. “And the baby is also fine, which is a miracle – considering the trauma it just went through.”

Steve couldn’t see her expression from where he was standing, but his super-hearing caught an almost inaudible sigh of relief and that told him enough that Natasha actually cared for the little life inside of her. He did, too – he did care. Despite only knowing about it a few hours ago, he realized that he had learned to care about his baby.

When the doctor finally left, he could see how exhausted Natasha was. Her eyes were half closed and she looked so small in the hospital bed. Steve mentally smacked himself for being so damn insensitive – forcing her into this conversation while she was still recuperating. He rubbed the back of his neck and sat down on the plastic chair again, saying nothing.

“Go away, Cap,” she mumbled as her eyes drooped.

“I’d rather not.”

“I’m tired.”

“Then rest,” he suggested like it was the most obvious thing on earth. “But I’m staying.”

“I don’t want to see you.”

“Well if you sleep, you won’t have to see me,” he quipped.

Natasha cracked her eyes open even though it hurt her head to do so. “Look,” she said sternly, “If you think I’m going to talk to you later, then you’re mistaken. There’s nothing to talk about. Period.”

“That’s my baby, too, Natasha,” Steve pointed out.

“A baby you knew nothing about before today,” she reminded.

Steve clenched his jaw. “And whose fault is that?”

Her green eyes lit at the accusation laced in his voice. She glared at him, and he glared back. “Get out,” she said in dangerously low tone.

“Nat, I’m…”

She grabbed the call button and pressed it. “Get him out of here,” she told a nurse who came in. She turned around to face away from him as he argued with the nurse, who was adamant that he let her rest.

“Natasha,” Steve called out to her one last time. “At least tell me this – were you ever going to tell me?” Silent. “I won’t bother you after this.”

Natasha felt a large lump on her throat but she swallowed it. “No,” she said without looking at him. “No, I wasn’t. Besides,” she paused – the next words were like pieces of glass on her tongue, “it wouldn’t matter. There won’t be any baby soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but I feel I need to clarify myself here - and really, I'm not trying to be defensive. 
> 
> I know that abortion issue is quite a controversial one for a lot of people, and I assure you that I bring this up here not to create arguments or anything like that. I just feel that Natasha, as a practical person (and considering her line of work), would think of this as an option. I mentioned it in the earlier chapter that having a baby would complicate a lot of things for her. She knew that she would put not only herself but also her child in danger. Her enemies would target her through the child; they would use the child as a leverage to get bargaining power over her. That was what Natasha would want to avoid. She wasn't stupid. And I believe that she also understood that no matter how good the protection that could be provided by S.H.I.E.L.D, shit still happened. 
> 
> I think I'm going to stop my explanation right here (I still need some fresh opinion to put in the story). but, If you think you want to discuss this issue with me - I am always open to talk.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, dearest. Again, I know it is cliche, but I thank you very much for reading the story, leaving kudos and encouraging comments despite this not being the best story on this pairing. I appreciate it, really. 
> 
> This chapter may serve as a little interlude - the plot hasn't really moved forward because I feel like I need to address both Steve's and Natasha's state of mind before I go on with this story. I hope I don't bore you to death with my narrative; I am a real sucker for details. 
> 
> I brought Peggy in for this chapter. I don't know if I captured her character correctly because I only watched Cap 1 and Cap 2 once. If you think she would have chosen different words, or you think that it wasn't something she would say, please tell me so I can fix it. 
> 
> As usual, I have no beta and all mistakes are mine. Please feel free to tell me anything. I'm going to shut up now. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Sometimes Steve wished that life had been easier for him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful or anything, but it was simply human that he had regrets. Yes, he had regretted a lot of things in his life – he had made peace with most of them, too, heeding his mother’s advice that keeping regrets would only poison even the best of hearts – but at times he couldn’t help to cling on to some of his regrets.

To this day he kept wondering if it would have been better if he didn’t survive the crash, or if it would have been easier to stay submerged under the ice and never found. It was stupid to think about all the ‘what ifs’, he knew that; it was naïve of him to hope that his life could ever be easy. Still, one could dream.

One of the things that shook him the most when he found out that he had lost seventy years of his life mummified under the ice was that he was practically alone – that everyone that he knew from his past was no longer, save for two people: one was in a coma in a hospital in Japan, and one was slowly losing her grip of reality. And while he had come to terms with that, too, he wished that he had someone to talk to now – someone that wasn’t one of these new people in his life.

The urge to see a familiar face, no matter how much that familiar face had changed, brought him to the retirement house. He stood awkwardly at the front desk, ignoring the pitying look from the nurse when he asked to see Peggy Carter – again.

This wasn’t the first time he visited her; he had been there for god knew how many times before, and even though it was painful to see how the woman he had come to love a long time ago fade away, Steve couldn’t bring himself to stay away. He was drawn to her – had always been drawn to her despite having no courage to tell her how he had felt – and he wasn’t ready to let go of the last sliver that he still held of the past.

Steve lingered at the door before he knocked, hoping with everything that it was his Peggy he’d see when he opened the door – his old Peggy with starry eyes instead of someone who would cry in disbelief that Steve was still alive.

“Why the long face, soldier?”

Relief flooded his body and Steve quickly crossed the room and planted a kiss on Peggy’s withered cheek before finding a place to sit. “How’s my girl doing today?” he asked lightly instead, avoiding the question.

“Better than some of us, I believe,” replied Peggy knowingly, not fooled by the bright smile on Steve’s face. “Something is bothering you.”

“It’s nothing important,” he said dismissively. “I just want to see you today.”

“Oh, Steve,” said the woman, chuckling, “You never could fool me before – what makes you think you can now? Something is troubling your mind, and it has nothing to do with how the world has changed while you were sleeping.”

The blond smiled sadly at her perceptiveness, knowing that in a matter of second it could turn into confusion and there was nothing he could do about it. “No, it has nothing to do with that,” he admitted. He took a deep breath. “I’m going to be a father,” he said very softly. His heart constricted painfully as he realized that it would soon turn to be a past tense.

Peggy looked delighted to hear that, until she saw his face. “I reckon it is not time to offer you a congratulation?”

Steve closed his eyes, pinching the bridge between his nose as he felt hot tears filled his eyes. “I was going to be a father,” he corrected himself. And the floodgate opened. The next thing he knew he had told Peggy everything that happened. “I don’t know what to do,” he said in the end. “I can’t even do what’s right.”

“And what’s right, Steve?”

He whipped his head up to meet her eyes. “Asking her to marry me,” he said.

“Time has changed a lot while you were sleeping, Steve,” Peggy said, “And while asking the mother of your future child to marry you is still the most responsible thing to do, it may not be the right thing to do.” She locked their eyes. “Do you love her?” She lifted a finger when he was about to speak, silently asking him to think carefully before he spoke.

“She’s a colleague.” When Peggy lifted an eyebrow, he knew he didn’t give her the answer she wanted. Steve swallowed, hard. “No.” the soldier sighed, “I don’t know if I can every love anyone but you.”

Peggy smiled sadly. “Steve, you know that we’ve lost that window seventy years ago, don’t you?”

“I know, but…”

“You don’t love me,” she cut him off. “You love the idea of me – and that’s two very different things. And let us not deviate from the topic. You don’t love her, and yet you want to ask her to marry you?”

“But that’s the best thing.”

“For whom? You? Her? The baby?” Steve couldn’t answer. “Trust me, Steve, the right thing to do isn’t always the best thing to do.”

“She’s going to kill my child!”

“Child? What…” Peggy faltered mid-sentence; her eyes began to glaze and before she opened her mouth again, Steve had known that she had slipped away from him.

He swallowed his frustration as he left the retirement house, feeling worse than before he arrived.

 

* * *

 

Natasha was still asleep when she heard somebody stopping in front of her hospital door. She was awake in an instant and listened to the soft click of the door handle being turned; she was immediately alert, her body went rigid as the door swung open from behind her and she only relaxed when she heard a familiar set of light footsteps approaching her bed. She turned around.

“Really, Nat?” was the first thing Clint said. He looked upset – there were two deep creases between his eyebrows, and his jaw was clenched.

“Save it, Barton,” Natasha said. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“The fuck you aren’t,” he retorted. “You are so fucking stupid, you know?” The archer paced around the small space of the room as he tried to keep his temper in check. He was so angry at Natasha. He only stopped when the woman told him his pacing was making her dizzy (he wouldn’t have stopped, wanting to punish her a little, but then he looked at her face. She looked as if she was really going to be sick all over the place). He sat on the couch unceremoniously and looked at his friend. “What the hell, Nat? You didn’t tell me you were going on a mission!”

“It was supposed to be an easy mission!”

“Right. And look where you are now.”

“I had backups,” she argued.

“I could have shadowed you!” his voice raised by a notch, ignoring Natasha’s look that told him what he already knew – even if he had shadowed her, he couldn’t have changed anything. She would still be hurt. The only thing that would change was the fact that he would have known first hand instead of being told my Maria. “This is by far the stupidest thing you’ve done. And that’s me omitting Cairo – and Nepal!”

“Let’s update that to Oymyakon,” Natasha deadpanned.

“I wasn’t there.”

She glared at him. “Too bad – it’d have been easier if it’d been you I fucked.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before they suddenly burst out laughing. Clint got up and walked to Natasha’s bed; he climbed to the bed with Natasha without saying anything, and she let him hug her.

“Yep – no tiny super-serum soldiers to invade your super-serum barricaded uterus,” he said in passing, knowing that Natasha wouldn’t be offended by his rather vulgar words. They were used to this kind of banter.

“Exactly,” Natasha agreed, “And no super-serum soldier to nag my ear off.”

Clint’s laughter died. “He knew?” He felt her nod against his chest. “Shit. How did he react?”

“He was… displeased that I didn’t tell him earlier.”

“What a euphemism,” he said. He then grinned. “Say, kiddo, did the Captain ask you to marry him?”

“Don’t call me ‘kiddo’,” she protested. “And no – he didn’t.”

“I must say I am appalled,” he replied in mock surprise, “Where are his manners, really?”

“I didn’t give him a chance to say anything,” Natasha stated.

She looked calm, but Clint could see the storm behind her well-placed mask. He hugged her a little tighter, surprised that she hadn’t kicked him out of bed yet like she usually did whenever he playfully showed his affection. Had to be the baby, he thought.

“You’re scared,” he whispered on her hair. She didn’t respond. “What are you afraid of?”

She said nothing at first. “Everything,” she finally sighed heavily, as if the word carried the weight of her whole world. “Everything.” She knew Clint would understand.

And he did. “I know,” he told her. “I know, Nat.” He didn’t need to tell her that he was scared for her, too. She knew that.

“I told him I’m going to get rid of the baby.”

“Wow. How’d he take it?”

She shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. The nurse was dragging him out when I told him that.”

“That’s…” _cruel_. But Clint, thankfully, could stop himself from saying it. “So, are you really?” he quickly changed the subject.

“I…” she began hesitantly, “I don’t know.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

She looked up and searched his eyes. “No,” she said.

“Okay.”

“Not because I don’t trust you,” she clarified. “I just haven’t really thought about it.”

He nodded. Of course she hadn’t had time to think about it. Who could have? In less than forty-eight hours she had gone from not knowing that she was pregnant to getting the news to being sent on a mission that only led her to wake up in a hospital.

“So there’s a chance you’re keeping it,” he stated – not a question.

“There’s a chance I am not.”

“But is there a chance?”

“No.”

“But you want to?”

Natasha was silent for the longest time and it was enough of an answer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt so crappy when writing this and I think this chapter is as bad as my feelings. Forgive me if you feel like you've wasted your time after you finish reading this chapter. I honestly don't know what's wrong with me. 
> 
> Well, on to the chapter then.
> 
> Edit: gosh, I almost forget. Please, please, please, for the sake of my sanity, please do not plagiarize my work again.

Ever since Natasha let herself out of the hospital against her doctor’s order about a week ago, she was on a personal mission: to avoid Steve Rogers at all cost. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him or anything, it was only because she didn’t want any unnecessary confrontation that would lead to people knowing about their affair, no pun intended, which would inevitably lead to their knowing her pregnancy.

Considering that they work in the same building and that somehow Fury kept partnering them together, she knew that the meeting would happen sooner or later. She determined to make it later rather than sooner. Natasha made it her top priority to hack the Triskelion log system so that she could check it regularly to find out who was in which part of the building. It was a bit tricky to hack into S.H.I.E.LD’s system, but she had her way to make her activity in that part of the system seem authorized. After she got in, all was a piece of cake; of course the fact that Steve seemed to have been spending most of his office time in the training room made it even easier.

“You’re crazy,” was Clint comment when he found out what she had been doing. He craned his neck to see her screen. “Damn, Nat, you’re obsessed.”

“It’s called being tactical,” she argued, readjusting the angle of her notebook screen so that Clint couldn’t see it from where he was standing. “And I am certainly not obsessed.”

 “Are you trying to avoid him forever? That is impossible!”

“It’s doable,” she said decidedly.

He shook his head in disbelief. “We work in the same damn building!”

“Try me.”

“That’s mature. Sure, _try you_. Let’s wait until Fury assigns you for a mission with him – maybe we’ll _try you_ then,” he mocked and walked to the door. “Well, whatever floats your boat. I’ve to go – appointment.” He only walked a couple of steps before he returned. “Anyway, while you’re at it: can you find me Agent Hill?” He ducked in time to avoid a pen from hitting his forehead. “Jesus! Hormonal much?!”

“Get the fuck out of my office, Barton,” Natasha mumbled without looking up from her typing. She rolled her eyes when she heard Clint mutter something about this being an empty conference room and their not having any office. The muttering stopped when he slammed the door behind him.

She was still busy with her report when the door was opened again from the outside. Thinking that it was Clint again (because he could be a pain when he had nothing else to do), Natasha didn’t even bother lifting her head as she spoke a warning, “You have exactly five seconds to leave, Clint. Don’t make me hurt you.”

“I’m not Barton.”

Natasha’s fingers stopped typing mid-sentence on hearing Steve’s voice. Her head whipped upward and she was on her feet in an instant. “Steven,” she gasped out loud without even realizing it, then berating herself mentally for the slip up.

Steve raised an eyebrow at how she called him, but he quickly dismissed it, thinking that he must have misheard. From where he was standing across the room, he could almost sense the hostility sent by her body language. The way she stood with her back straight and how her chin jutted out defensively sent a loud and clear message that his presence was unwelcome.

He couldn’t help but feel a little saddened to see how Natasha reacted to the sight of him. Of course she and he had never been that close to begin with. They were never really friends – only two agents who happened to be sent together on various missions and exchanged silly banters to keep their nerves calm. However, she was one of the few familiar faces he saw constantly in his new life and, selfish as it may sound, Steve didn’t want to break any ties with anyone.

“What do you want, Cap?”

Her voice sent shiver to Steve’s spine. This was the first time Natasha spoke to him in such reserved manner and now he understood why a lot of people were afraid of this woman. “I’m looking for…” he faltered for a second, “I was looking for Ms. Potts.”

He wasn’t lying. He was really on his way to a meeting and must have remembered the meeting room incorrectly. It was an honest mistake – he wasn’t out on a search for her. He was more than surprised that it was Natasha inside instead of Fury and Pepper Potts.

“Pepper? She’s not here,” she replied in a controlled tone. “She’s with Stark and Director Fury in…” Her eyes glanced at the log on her screen and she found their names easily, “conf six. Third floor.”

“Right,” he said. “Thanks.” Steve nodded and turned around to leave. But as he lifted his hand to open the door, he realized that this might be his only opportunity to speak with Natasha undisturbed. He had spent the whole week thinking about what to do and despite all doubts, he had made a decision. Steve pressed his palm on the ID panel, authorizing door lock.

“Door lock: authorized.”

As the digital voice informed her what Steve just did, Natasha’s eyes scanned the ceiling as if really considering an escape through the air ventilation system. It was stupid, she knew. She gripped the side of the desk before her like it would form a barrier between herself and Steve.

“We need to talk, Natasha,” he said in a low tone.

“No, we don’t,” she replied as calmly as she could, looking at him in the eyes as she spoke, “Not anymore.”

Steve’s eyes widened as what was implied by her words dawned on him. His eyes glanced to Natasha’s flat stomach and back again to the pool of green eyes that betrayed nothing. “What?” He said in shock, shaking his head as everything he had planned crumbled. “You didn’t…” He couldn’t even finish his words.

“I did,” she said. “Now please leave, Captain. I have work to do.”

The blond crossed the room in four big steps and roughly seized Natasha by the arm as she was about to take a seat. He shoved her hard until her back was hitting the wall and put his other arm on the wall, trapping Natasha in between.

“How could you?” he hissed.

“It is none of your business, Rogers.”

“You could at least have the decency to tell me first!” He was almost shouting.

“You’re not the boss of me – I have no obligation to tell you what I do or not do.”

It was more of how Natasha said it than what she said that made Steve angry; it was the lack of emotion and remorse in her manner of speaking that finally made him snap. “That’s my child too!” he practically yelled on her face.

“Was,” she reminded without blinking.

Steve slammed his fist on the wall next to her. “You’re lying,” he said. It sounded like a prayer – a plea. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Natasha raised her voice, too. “Snap out of it, Cap! There is no baby anymore – I got rid of it.”

“Don’t talk about the baby as if it were a piece of trash! That was your child you just admitted murdering – _my_ child!” She said nothing. “How could you? How could you kill your own child without batting an eye?”

“It’s a fetus, not a child,” she said.

Her answer enraged him more than anything she had said before. It took every ounce of control he had left not to hit Natasha. "How could you be this cold? Didn't you feel anything at all? Not even a single drop of remorse? God, Natasha, even an animal has more compassion than you towards their young!"

Natasha didn’t even think as she lifted her hand and slapped him across the face. If he thought that she was going to swallow every shit he was throwing at her without doing anything, he was wrong. Natasha had had enough. What the fuck did Steve know about her anyway?

In a matter of seconds, Natasha had freed herself from Steve’s grasp – using the wall behind her as leverage to kick his kneecap with the heel of her boot. He might be stronger than her, but she was a lot faster – and a lot more experienced.

Before Steve could fully react, Natasha had already taken her garrote from one of her sleeves. With one swift motion she circled Steve and clung to his back like he was piggy-backing her with her garrote around his neck. She tugged at the rope hard as Steve began to use his body weight to throw her off; she made sure the more he struggled the tighter the rope would wound around his neck.

Steve realized that she was seriously intending to hurt him when he felt the garrote dig into his flesh, nicking the skin as well as cutting the supply of oxygen to his brain. He wasn’t stupid; he knew it wouldn’t end well if they continued. “Natasha,” he gasped, clawing at the impossibly tight rope with one hand while his other arm was grabbing wildly at Natasha’s suit. “Natasha, stop.”

She didn’t. She pulled harder until Steve saw stars and his knees buckled a little. Right when he thought she was going to finish him, though, he felt her lean in close to the side of his face.

“Nobody,” she warned in a dangerously low tone, pulling harder still, “insults me and lives.”

But then that was it. She suddenly stopped. And that was when Steve felt something wet fall to the side of his face and roll down his neck. The angle of his head made it impossible to see her, but when the next drop of liquid touched his skin, Steve knew that she was crying. He froze.

Natasha slid off his back, leaving the garrote dangling around his neck as she walked to the door. She pressed her palm at the panel, unlocking it. With her back at Steve, she warned with even voice, “Don’t show your face in front of me ever again, Rogers. I won’t hesitate next time.”

The blond was too stunned to reply. He watched in silent as Natasha left the room without giving him a single glance. It took him a few minutes before he could finally move from his place. He looked around the conference room and realized that she had left her things there. Sighing, Steve began to pick her scattered things up and put them back on the desk. It was then that he realized something: Natasha wasn’t as unfeeling as she showed him. Steve felt a bitter taste in his mouth, feeling so much like an asshole.

 

* * *

 

Natasha didn’t even realize that she walked past Clint and Maria as she stormed out of the elevator, and when Clint touched her shoulder her first reaction was to grab his wrist and twist it. It wasn’t until Clint and Maria called her name that she realized what she was doing. She released her hold on Clint.

“Nat? Everything okay?” It was Maria who asked. Clint didn’t say anything, but he had his eyes on her.

“I don’t feel well,” Natasha lied.

“We can see that,” said Maria. “Do you need a ride?”

The redhead shook her head. “I just need fresh air.” She reached for her pocket and remembered that she had left her jacket and everything she brought in the conference room. Everything including her car keys.

The senior agent suspected that something was wrong, and while she knew that Natasha wouldn’t confide to her unless she really needed to, Maria wasn’t going to let the other woman to go on her own. “I can use some fresh air,” she told Natasha, inviting herself. Then to Clint, “That would be all, Agent Barton. Wheels up in twenty.”

“You’re leaving?” Natasha asked.

“Viva la vie Boheme,” was what he said, telling Natasha where he was going without actually mentioning anything.

Maria clicked her tongue. “One of these days you both are going to be in trouble for sharing your missions with each other,” she warned but none too seriously.

“Scary,” Clint sassed. He didn’t wait for either woman to reply and just walked away.

The two women walked side by side, saying nothing to each other until after they left the Triskelion in Maria’s car.

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Maria,” she told the senior agent bluntly.

“I’m fine with not talking,” Maria said. After a while she added, “Your head is all over the place.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Do I want to know?” The brunette glanced and found Natasha smiling enigmatically. She chuckled. “I suppose not, then.” And she dropped the subject just like that, respecting Natasha’s privacy. She put on her earphones and turned on some music for herself to let Natasha think in silent as she drove them both away from the Triskelion.

The silent helped Natasha calm down from her earlier outburst with Steve. As she leaned back to the car seat, she felt the muscles on her back contracted and she took a deep yoga breath to relax them. The palms of her hands were still raw red and stinging from the garrote; she didn’t even want to think of what the weapon did to Steve’s neck.

A part of her brain was still restless, wanting so much to hurt Steve even more for what he had said to her. The other part of her brain kept reminding her that she’d been called worse before, that it had never mattered then and it shouldn’t have mattered now. She closed her eyes as the two contradicting thoughts battled in her head.

Natasha put a hand across the stomach and felt the warmth from it seep into her belly through her layer of clothes. She had lied to Steve. She didn’t get rid of the baby. Not yet. She still couldn’t make up her mind on it even though she knew that the longer she put it off, the harder it was for her to conceal her pregnancy.

She had destroyed her latest medical reports, making sure that there would be no written evidence concerning her condition. However, she knew that she would be showing soon if she didn’t do something about it.

The baby would bring nothing but trouble for her. Natasha had enemies everywhere; if they knew that she had a child, the child would be a target – a target to get to her. And even if they didn’t find out (which was almost impossible), what would she do with the baby anyway? It wasn’t like her line of work had a normal work hour; she could be sent on a mission at any time – not to mention that she could be away from a few hours to a few years depending on what kind of mission she was assigned to.

And there was Steve. Natasha sighed audibly at the thought of him, too absorbed in her train of thoughts to remember that she wasn’t alone. If she continued with this pregnancy, she knew that Steve would want to be involved. Somehow she resented that – no, she dreaded that. Of course, Natasha had no doubt that Steve would be a good father; he was born with so much good in him it was ridiculous. Natasha thought that she might be alright with that. The problem was that he was going to insist on doing the right thing. She shuddered at the thought. She brought disaster to marriages – hence her name.

To her, Steve was no more than a colleague – no more than someone who wasn’t too intimidated to get along with her merciless teasing when they got bored during a mission. And from what he had learned from Steve’s files and old videos, she was dead sure that Steve never thought of her more than a fellow servant of this country.

Marrying her would destroy him in every sense possible. And marrying him would do the same to her – if not worse. No. She wouldn’t let it happen.

So that brought her to the only other option: to terminate the pregnancy. Something tugged at her heartstring when the thought crossed her mind. This pregnancy of hers, no matter how unwanted it was, was the only thing that counted as a miracle in her life. She wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant; the scientists in the Red Room had warned her about it before they injected her with the serum. This was her only chance to have a semblance to normalcy.

_Define normal, Natalia_ , suddenly a cold voice spoke in Russian in her head. Ivan. _Normal is relative – and what makes you think you deserve normal?_

Natasha stiffened on her seat. Ivan’s question echoed in her head – a cold reminder of her past. What was normal? What made her think that she deserved normalcy when her ledger was dripping with so much red she couldn’t wipe it in a lifetime?

She made a decision. “Maria,” she said to the other woman. “I wish to take a week off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update end notes: I have edited the part where I thought I messed up, maybe it makes a difference, maybe it doesn't. Well.. on the whole, I am still very dissatisfied with this chapter but less so now than before.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly do not know what to say about this chapter besides that I hope this one is better than the last one. 
> 
> Oh, and I have a beta!! Or maybe I have to say, I have my old beta back! She's so perf! I kinda forget her username on here (my bad, sorry Sabs darling), but I think it's either singinglupines or aurayaofthewhite.  
> She makes my life so much easier, and I'm not just talking about her betaing for me. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter deals with (again) termination of pregnancy and the stress around it. Please skip it if this may upset you, and please proceed with caution if you decide to read. I do not wish to cause you any harm.
> 
> And I'm going to shut up now. Please tell me what you think about the chapter (if you don't mind, that is).

“Natasha.”

Natasha stiffened at the sound of Steve’s voice saying her name. Instantly she knew that she was dreaming. Again. She didn’t open her eyes; instead, she squeezed them tighter, telling herself to wake up over and over. But as always, she couldn’t.

She could really feel the cold, hard stone floor beneath her, could feel Steve’s weight pressing in on top of her, could smell the combination of their dried sweat mixed with blood and grime, and she could still hear him whispering in her ear for her to open her eyes. Slowly, she opened her eyes to a too familiar sight – a pair of blue eyes staring at her with a worried expression.

“Stay with me.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, a tear sliding out of the corner of her eye. Then, knowing that this was just a dream, Natasha did something she would only do in her dreams – she said his name. “Steve, I’m so sorry.”

“Stay.”

“I’m so tired.”

“Don’t leave me.”

…

Natasha woke up with a start and suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. Her head was pounding and when she tried to get up, the world spun around her. She barely made it to the bathroom before she emptied the content of her stomach into the toilet bowl.

She felt like shit.

When the storm seemed to be over, the red haired woman lay down on the floor, sighing gratefully at the touch of the cool porcelain on her feverish skin. Natasha closed her eyes as she began to see black dots dancing, and she tried her best to ignore the high pitched noise roaring in her ears. She stayed motionless like that for a few minutes until she was sure that she wasn’t going to be sick again.

“I guess you won this round, baby,” she said, patting her stomach.

It took Natasha about ten minutes before she was strong enough to get up without falling over. She frowned in distaste when she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror while brushing her teeth later. She looked haggard – her skin was almost translucent and she had dark circles under her eyes; apparently, holing up in her apartment for more than two weeks had done quite a number on her appearance. She shouldn’t have requested an additional leave of absence after her one week off had been over.

Her eyes traveled down to her stomach; there was a tiny bump there now. Natasha shook her head to keep from smiling. Don’t get too attached, she reminded herself before looking away. She finished her nightly routine without another glance at the mirror.

Out of habit, Natasha checked her phone. No new missed calls but there were three new messages. She skipped the first two – one from Pepper and one from Maria – and went straight to check the third one; it was from an unknown international number and she knew it had to be from Clint. Her mood dropped when she read the message.

‘Don’t wait up.’

It was a simple message, but enough to let her know that he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. The lack of emoticons and a time frame code also indicated that this was serious, that Clint himself wasn’t sure when he would return – or when he could contact her again.

She threw her phone at the couch, feeling irrationally angry at Clint. She knew she was being selfish; it wasn’t like Clint had a choice, and she should know better. Yet, that didn’t stop her from blaming Clint for being sent on a mission instead of being here with her when she needed someone she could trust.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Natasha decided that she could use some meditation. She grabbed her yoga mat, put on the most calming music she had, and headed for the balcony in hope that the cool night air would provide her comfort. Maybe, just maybe, she could go back to sleep afterwards – it was only ten anyway. Focusing on her breathing, Natasha closed her eyes and tried to clear her head.

The calm she was waiting for never came. Instead, her mind drifted to what had happened on her second day of leave, what had prompted her to call in for more weeks off.

She had made the decision to terminate her pregnancy, but she wanted it to be private – and she needed somebody she could trust; or at least someone that she could threaten into complete secrecy. She had a few options, of course, but she knew that if she left the country it would alert S.H.I.E.L.D and she would have to explain it later – she didn’t want that. So her options were down to two people: a German doctor who now lived in Dallas or a Russian scientist who was now a professor in MIT. Both were crazy. Both used to work with her. Both owed her their lives.

…

_“Ach, isn’t this the Black Widow herself in the flesh,” a gruff male voice greeted her in German as Natasha entered the house. The old man smiled at her in a not-so-friendly manner. “I thought I told Sophia to get rid of every cobweb in the house.”_

_“Always a pleasure meeting you too, Gustav,” replied Natasha neutrally. “And Sophia is never good at following order, is she? I heard she’s rotting somewhere in Lima.”_

_Gustav glared at her but said nothing as Natasha climbed the stairs to meet him. “She was,” he finally told her. “I got her out, no thanks to you.”_

_“Oh,” was Natasha’s reply. “I’m quite disappointed.”_

_“She’s still my daughter, Widow,” he argued. He then added, “And she hates you for leaving her to die.”_

_Natasha smiled, unfazed. “Is that so? Just wait until I see her again and tell her that it was you who asked me to leave her to die,” she said calmly._

_Gustav tensed at her reply but decided to drop the subject, knowing that he would never win an argument against the Black Widow. “What do you want?”_

_“Your help.”_

_“I’m no longer in the business.”_

_Natasha ignored him. “I need you to terminate a pregnancy,” she told him. “You owe me, Kahr.”_

_“Whose?”_

_“Mine.”_

_The conversation only went uphill from there. Gustav didn’t even hide his enthusiasm to ‘help’, despite his earlier claim that he was no longer in the business. The fact that he knew about Natasha’s medical condition added to the enthusiasm. He spent an hour explaining every procedure and precaution needed to her, and another couple of hours doing tests._

_When he got the results back a few hours later, he looked at her in confusion. “I don’t understand why you would need my help in the first place,” he told her truthfully._

_“What do you mean?”_

_He showed her the test result on the screen. Natasha glanced at it quickly and her eyes widened in surprise at her level of leucocytes._

_“See?” he said overly gleeful to Natasha’s liking. “Your body is rejecting the fetus.” His eyes gleamed sadistically. “You don’t really need my help, Widow – the fetus is bound to die on its own sooner or later.”_

_…_

Another bout of queasiness brought her back from her thoughts. Natasha took a deep breath but didn’t make any attempts to go to the bathroom. She would not get sick again. Her stomach settled down after a few breaths and Natasha relaxed, opening her eyes. Her meditation hadn’t given her the desired effect, so she decided to stop. That was when her phone rang.

She padded lazily to the living room and searched for her phone. It was Maria. Again. The woman was too persistent. Natasha picked up her phone and walked to the balcony to get her mat.

 “I’m asleep,” she said without saying hello.

“Yes, and I can’t see you on your balcony from here,” sassed Maria.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and looked over the banister. Maria was downstairs, half sitting on the hood of her car and was still wearing her work clothes. The brunette waved at her.

“Damn, Maria, are you spying on me?”

“You’ve been ignoring my calls and messages!” the brunette said defensively. “Buzz me in!”

It was not an order and Natasha was tempted not to let her in, but she did it anyway. She went to the door and punched the code number. “I’m on a fucking leave,” she pointed out, turning off her phone while walking to her room to find a robe. She made sure that her baby bump was hidden under the robe when she opened the door to the other woman. “And I did reply to your messages.”

“You texted me. There’s a difference,” replied Maria as she entered and made herself at home. She swept the room in one big glance as if clearing it. “And I only came here to prove a point to Fury.”

“What point?”

“That you took a leave so that you could shadow Barton.” She lifted both hands in surrender. “I was wrong, I’m sorry.”

“Shadow Clint? While he’s in deep undercover? Are you crazy?!” Natasha stared at Maria as if the other woman had lost her mind.

“How did you…” Maria clicked her tongue impatiently and began pacing around the room, flailing both hands in exasperation. “That,” she said, “That is exactly why I had my suspicions. You aren’t even supposed to know that he is undercover!” The woman ran a hand through her hair. “Damn it, Nat, you know you’re jeopardizing these missions by sharing with other agents, right?”

“It never bothered you before, why should it bother you now?”

“Believe me, it’s been bothering me ever since I found out you both were doing it,” Maria muttered. “Barton’s team was compromised, okay? We got the news a few hours ago – that’s why he’s now undercover.”

Natasha frowned. “And you thought I was the cause of the leak?” Maria said nothing but Natasha knew better. “Oh, this is rich – you should’ve given us a little credit, Maria. Clint and I have a strict rule of communication regarding our missions. We are not amateurs. And you should know that I would never _ever_ risk Clint’s safety.”

At least the brunette had the decency to look embarrassed. She sat down on a couch. “Tell me what you know,” she asked. “This mission is hurting my head.”

“I know nothing,” admitted Natasha. “Whatever it is you think I know – I don’t.” She sat across Maria. “Look, you don’t know anything about my communication codes with Clint. All I know about this mission are his whereabouts and how long he’s gonna be on this mission – which he didn’t specify.”

“When did he tell you he was going undercover?”

Natasha picked her phone up. “Approximately two hours and twenty minutes ago.”

“So you really don’t know?”

“About what?”

“We got more news about an hour ago – Agent Stratford is dead.” Maria’s face darkened. William Stratford was Clint’s second in command. “Barton is nowhere to be found.”

Natasha felt sick to the stomach. She balled her fists on her lap. “Clint’s still alive,” she said unconvincingly. He had to be. He was just that good.

“We hope so,” replied Maria, too preoccupied to see how all colors had left Natasha’s face. “He’s supposed to drop a report in five days – we’re going to wait until then. If he misses the deadline…”

The redhead nodded in grim understanding. “Send me in.”

 

* * *

 

Natasha found herself standing awkwardly at Steve’s door about an hour later; she had been there for ten minutes and hadn’t been able to make herself knock. She kept asking herself what the hell she was doing there and what she was looking for; to be honest with herself, she didn’t know. The redhead really began to question her judgment and decided that it really sucked. She stood there for another five minutes before resolving to leave – there was no way she could talk to Steve and there was no way he would want to see her again after what had happened to them.

“Natasha?”

She froze upon hearing the voice that had been haunting her nightmares from behind her. This had to be another dream. _Wake up_ , she said, _wake up_. She didn’t move an inch when she felt Steve approaching her.

“Natasha? What are you doing here?”

His tone was not uncivil when he addressed her, and Natasha felt ashamed of herself. She steeled herself and counted to five before she finally turned her head to see Steve looking at her with concern. She recognized that look all too well; she’d seen it every night in her dreams for the past month. No sound came out when she opened her mouth to speak.

Steve was more than surprised to find Natasha at his door. At first he thought that she was coming to finish him for what he had said to her a few weeks ago, but then he realized that if Natasha was really coming to kill him, he wouldn’t know what was coming until he was an inch from his death.

He was still very angry with her despite the regret that gnawed at his heart for having insulted her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry about her – especially now that she was standing in front of him looking as like was going to faint. Natasha’s red hair stood out against her pale skin.

Instinctively, he reached for her arm to steady her but quickly stopped himself when he saw her flinch. Steve sighed and pulled out his keys, unlocking his door. “Come on in,” he invited. She didn’t move. “It’s safe, I promise.” _I won’t hurt you_.

Steve left her in his living room and went to his room to change. When he returned, he found her sitting on the coach still in her coat, staring into the hollow space between his TV and DVD player. Steve swallowed his question and prepared some tea.

He put the mug on the table in front of her, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Let me take your coat,” he offered. The offer seemed to wake her up from her trance, for Natasha slowly unbuttoned her coat and eased out of it. When Steve bent down to take it from her, he saw it – an unmistakable baby bump on her stomach – and he froze.

Natasha noticed the halting of his movement and she glanced up to find him looking at her stomach. She put her hand over it, covering it from Steve’s sight. “Don’t get too attached,” she said without looking at his eyes, repeating the same mantra she had been saying to herself.

A wave of guilt passed through him as he remembered what he had done – what he had said – to her. Steve put her coat away and returned. He didn’t sit next to Natasha; he knelt in front of her, placing his arms on either side of her but making sure that this time he gave her enough space to move, that he didn’t crowd her.

“This time,” Natasha began after what seemed like forever – her voice was thick. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she continued, “This time I’m giving you a chance to say goodbye.”

Steve tensed. His guilt turned into another fit of rage. What the hell was she doing? Giving him hope only to take it away from him again? “You’re one cruel heartless woman,” he hissed before he could stop himself. Her eyes met his and Steve was surprised to find no anger there – only defeat. That was enough to make his anger dissipate.

Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible when she spoke again, “He won’t survive, Steven.” This was the second time she used his name. And from the surprise in his face, she knew Steve noticed the use of his full name.

“I can help you,” he whispered, hoping that this time she would let him help – that she wouldn’t brush him off or hurt him with her words. “Please, Natasha, let me help you.”

She shook her head. “I wish it were that easy,” she said.

“You don’t…” Steve pleaded, “Please. Please, Tasha, please… you don’t have to marry me – you don’t have to give me any rights as a father, you don’t even have to tell the baby that I’m his father. God, please, just please let me help.” He was almost in tears when he added, “Let him live.”

Natasha felt as if her world had just crashed and burned listening to Steve. She could feel his pain, his desperation. This man, this very good man who only wanted to do the right thing, was practically throwing all his moral codes out of the window in order to beg her for a chance for the baby’s life – a baby that had never had a chance to begin with. Tears began to fill her eyes.

God, why did she come here? Why didn’t she just let him think that the baby had died? Why did she have to hurt him all over again? Why didn’t she go to Pepper instead – she would have helped her, no question asked. Why did she wait?

The last question burned her mind. She could have gone to find another doctor when that bastard Gustav had turned her down in the end, saying that his debt had been paid in full when he had done the tests. But she didn’t. Why? Because the bastard told her there was a chance – he gave her hope. But she should have known better. She should have known that it was false hope ever since she had found a trace of blood in her urine a few days ago. The fetus was losing its battle. Yet, she still held on. Why?

“I’m going to be sick,” she mumbled weakly.

Steve reacted quickly. He lifted her off the couch easily and took her to the bathroom. He was there the entire time she retched, holding back her hair for her and massaging her damp nape. Afterwards he wetted a hand towel and cleaned her up very gently. Then he carried her to his room and laid her on his bed.

Her eyes were closed the entire time so Steve thought that she had either passed out or fallen asleep – he hoped for the latter. But she wasn’t asleep, apparently, for she spoke when he was about to leave.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” replied Steve.

“Not just for earlier,” Natasha said. She shifted so that she was facing Steve. He was still standing in the middle of the room with his back towards her. “For everything.”

The blond pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand you,” he admitted.

“My body is rejecting the baby,” she finally told him. He turned around. She gestured at her stomach. “All this time – the whole time – they’ve been fighting inside of me. And he’s losing the battle.”

He walked to her and sat on the bed. “Maybe he’s going to win in the end.”

She didn’t tell that it was the reason why she hadn’t tried to find another doctor – because she still had this childish hope that the baby would be strong enough. Like her. Like Steve. “I can’t afford to wait that long.” She took a deep breath, unsure how to proceed. “I only have less than five days to choose.”

“Between what?”

“The baby or Clint.”

“I don’t…”

Natasha ended up telling him about Clint’s mission, about what Maria told her, about what she would need to do if Clint didn’t check-in in five days. “The baby’s never had a chance to survive in the first place. If I’m to choose between him and Clint, I’ll choose Clint in a heartbeat.”

Steve was silent. “Do you love him?” he asked. “Barton – do you love him?”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Love is for children, Cap,” she repeated what she had told Loki a couple of years ago, “I owe him something.”

“Something that’s more important than your own baby?”

“Yes,” she replied firmly without explanation.

Steve sighed. “Why are you here, Natasha?”

That was her question too. “I don’t know,” she stated, honest. Then, after a while she said something she had never told anyone but Clint: “I’m scared.”

Steve looked at her for a long time and in the end he climbed into the bed and settled behind her. He hesitated as he put his arm around her, waiting for her reaction. When she didn’t pull away, he tightened his hold on her, placing his large hand on the small bump of her stomach to feel, for the first time – and maybe the last time, his growing baby who was fighting a losing battle inside of her.

“Go to sleep, Natasha,” he said. _I’ll be here._ To the bump he whispered, “Goodbye, champ.”

Tears fell unchecked from Natasha’s eyes as Steve said goodbye to their child, but no sound left her mouth. For the first time she admitted to herself that there was this small part of her that wanted the baby to live, that she also cared.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter has quite a graphic description of abortion, or at least the feelings and thoughts around it. DO NOT READ if it can trigger you in any ways. I really do not want to hurt you. 
> 
> For those who decide to read it anyway, I hope that I don't leave you too devastated after this chapter. The next chapter will not be this dark, I promise. 
> 
> Thanks for all your support. And I'm adding some end notes for you who wish to know why I wrote the chapter like it is. 
> 
> Special thanks for my beta, Sabrina, or singinglupines, or auraya for all your help with my chapters. I love you to Pluto and back, because the moon is just too mainstream. 
> 
> I'm shutting up now. Good luck.

Steve cursed inwardly when his bedside alarm clock sprang to life precisely at 4:30 a.m; he had completely forgotten to turn it off before he had gone to bed last night. He was hoping that Natasha would be too tired to hear it, but he knew she awoke the moment his alarm beeped. He kept as still as possible as she began to stir in his arms. “It’s me,” he said softly when he felt her stiffen, “Steve – it’s Steve.”

His voice seemed to help; she relaxed after a moment. Slowly, Steve pulled away his arm that was resting atop her and reached over to the far side of the bed to switch the alarm off. He heard her sigh gratefully at the sudden silence, and a smile tugged at his lips at the sound. Steve didn’t return to his earlier position; he laid on his back instead and stared at the ceiling.

“What time is it?” Natasha’s voice was hoarse when she spoke, laced with sleep and exhaustion. Steve frowned worriedly, but he told her the time anyway. The crease between his eyebrows deepened when she told him she had to go.

The blond turned his head sideways and stared at the back of Natasha’s head. The redhead was still facing away from him, curled up fetally. He opened his mouth to ask her to stay longer but found the words dying on the tip of his tongue; he resigned himself as asking her that would be futile. “Okay,” he said, and resumed staring at the ceiling.

She didn’t move immediately, and Steve waited. He paused for another minute before he finally told her he was going for a run, knowing that she wasn’t asleep.

“Okay,” was her answer.

But he didn’t move after all. And they stayed like that for a long time, motionless and in complete silence. It took him a while to realize that her breathing had evened out – Natasha had fallen back asleep. He wasn’t surprised; they’d had quite a rough night. The problem was that she was using him as a pillow; her head was resting on his other arm, and there was no way Steve could get up without waking her. He contemplated his options and decided that it wouldn’t kill him to forego his exercise for a day. Besides, Natasha needed this rest.

He placed his free hand over his eyes, feeling worn out. Natasha had kept getting sick during the night; she had been so sick at one point that the only thing that had kept Steve from taking her to the hospital on foot was her word that she’d been like that every single night for the past three weeks – that this was normal.

If he wanted to be honest, Natasha’s definition of normal really bothered him. It wasn’t anything like any dictionary’s definition of said word, and Steve began to suspect that she didn’t even know what the word really meant. But who was he to judge? Normal hadn’t been in his own vocabulary ever since he had been injected with the serum.

He opened his eyes and watched her sleeping form, tracing the outline of her curves with the eyes of an artist. Natasha looked so small while she was asleep, he mused. She was never big to begin with, he knew – even when she was wearing heels, she was still a lot smaller than him. However, there was always something about Natasha when awake that gave the impression that she was bigger; the way she moved, the way she spoke, and even the way she tilted her head sent out a warning message that intimidated the people around her, belittling them – Steve wasn’t excluded.

From where he was lying, Steve couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine how Natasha would look in her sleep. He could picture how the sharp edges of her facial features would soften, and how she would look a lot more peaceful while asleep. The artist in him itched to paint her.

That thought led to other thoughts, and Steve let his mind wander to what he would love to paint. He didn’t even stop himself when he began to think about their unborn child. The baby would have been a great inspiration for him. The blond knew that he was torturing himself with all the ‘what ifs’, but he just couldn’t stop. He shut his eyes and started to draw a picture of what the baby would have looked like.  

The baby would have had her hair, he decided. And his eyes. The child would’ve looked like an angel with red hair and blue eyes. Steve smiled. In his mind, the child smiled back at him – with Natasha’s lips. Steve never saw the redhead genuinely smile (the occasional grin and condescending smirk were not genuine, please) and he thought that the child’s smile would have been the closest way for him to see Natasha’s smile. The child would have been perfect.

He didn’t stop there. He thought of a name for the baby. What would they have called the child? Names of people he knew in the past swirled in his head, and Steve tested them but couldn’t find one he really liked. Then he remembered Bucky, his best mate. He would have loved it if Steve named the baby after him, wouldn’t he? James Rogers – he liked the sound of it.

But what if it would be a girl? The thought of naming his daughter Jamesina Rogers made him laugh. No way – Natasha would kill him before he could even mention it. Of course he wouldn’t deny that the first name that came to mind was Peggy. Would Natasha want her daughter to be called Peggy? He doubted it. Steve bit the inside of his cheek – admitting that he wouldn’t want his daughter to be called Peggy, either. The image of a little girl with red hair and Natasha’s smile swam in his head, and Steve decided that the only name fitting for such a girl would be Scarlett – Scarlett Rogers.

Steve didn’t realize he was crying until he felt a soft finger wiping the salty liquid from the corner of his eye. He looked down and found a pair of green eyes staring at him; Natasha had woken up sometime during his musing. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his wet eyes with his hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Cap.”

“Steve,” he corrected.

Natasha smiled sadly at him. She kept their eyes locked for a few more seconds before looking away; she sat up slowly. “I have to go,” she told him.

“Okay.” He watched as she got out of bed and walked to the door without a second glance at him. He didn’t try to stop her – he wasn’t even angry at her for leaving. The impassive expression she was displaying no longer fooled him; she wasn’t unaffected by all this – she was in as much pain as he was, if not more. When she stopped at the door, Steve raised his eyebrows. When she spoke with a slight quiver without looking at him, it took all his willpower not to jump out of bed and hold her again.

“Scarlett is a beautiful name, Steven,” she whispered, hesitating a second before adding, “Thank you.”

 After she had left, Steve realized that it would be the last time he would ever hear his name fall from her lips. The next time they would meet, they would be nothing more than colleagues – they would return to solely being Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers. And last night would be nothing more than just a dream.

There was a stab of pain in his heart, something akin to longing, and Steve had to remind himself that they had never been more than colleagues to begin with; Natasha was never his, and he had never even loved her that way. He had to remind himself that it was Peggy that he loved, no matter how distant that love was.

Yet, at the end of the day, after he had poured all his energy into the S.H.I.E.L.D training room to the point of exhaustion, Steve couldn’t convince himself.

 

* * *

 

 

As Natasha had predicted, Pepper had asked no questions when she had shown up at the other woman’s door very early in the morning asking for help. It had only taken the blonde one glance at Natasha before the redhead had been ushered in and told to wait while she got some coffee into her system before they started talking business. And Virginia Potts was everything but inefficient (otherwise, Stark wouldn’t have handed her his whole business). Before lunchtime, she’d had Natasha’s files sent to a surgeon in one of Stark’s private medical facilities, and she had arranged for everything to be ready for Natasha by the time they arrived there. Pepper had canceled all her meetings that day and had driven Natasha there herself.

About an hour later, Natasha was ready to get herself a pair of earplugs. Pepper was beyond furious that Natasha hadn’t come to her earlier; the CEO hadn’t stopped talking Natasha’s ears off since they had left Stark Tower. The only thing that kept the redhead from severing Pepper’s vocal chords was the fact that she owed the other woman – and that Pepper was one of the very few people she could trust.

To no avail, Natasha buried her head under a pillow from her hospital bed in hope of muffling Pepper’s voice; now she remembered why she hadn’t come to the other woman sooner. “Pepper? Shut up, will you?” Natasha cut the strawberry blonde off mid-sentence. The other woman kept on talking from where she was sitting on the other side of the curtain that separated them. “Potts!”

Pepper was on her feet in an instant. She crossed the room and with one swift movement, opened the curtain. “Don’t you dare ‘Potts’ me!” She pointed a finger at the spy. “And don’t you tell me to shut up! I’m nowhere near done with you.” She glared at Natasha. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“Like my ‘sooner’ would ever be soon enough for you,” grumbled Natasha. 

“Keep that sass for someone else,” said Pepper. “And drop the look – you don’t scare me.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but said nothing more, letting Pepper rant. She knew that she would thank Pepper later for providing her with distraction – listening to the blonde kept her mind off the baby.

“Nat, are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

She blinked, apparently having lost herself in her thoughts. “Which part? You haven’t stopped talking.”

“The part where I said that you owed me an explanation sooner or later.”

 “I’d rather it be later than sooner,” replied Natasha calmly.

Pepper was going to argue, but she was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. A middle-aged male entered the room with a thick folder – Natasha’s test results.

He greeted the two ladies and made sure that Natasha was alright with Pepper being in the room while they talked about the test results. He mentioned first that surgery was urgent before informing them about the facts. Natasha’s leucocytes levels were a lot higher than they had been three weeks ago, and it was a miracle she could still stand and talk coherently. There were also signs of infection in her uterus that had begun to poison her blood – again, proving that it was a wonder Natasha wasn’t in a coma at this point. He showed her each test result and waited until she had read everything. Then, he looked straight at Natasha.

“We took an ultrasound picture earlier, Ms. Romanoff,” he said carefully. “And I understand if you say no, but I have to ask – would you like to see it?”

Natasha hadn’t expected that offer and her eyes widened in surprise. A picture of the baby. Her heart sped up and she felt her throat constrict. Would she want to see it? Could she see it? Instinctively, she placed a hand on her stomach. Did she want to see the baby’s picture, knowing that it would be the last? Would it even be wise? Wouldn’t it be better if she just let it go once and for all? Out of sight, out of mind – yes, it would be better that way. She opened her mouth to decline and was taken aback when she heard herself say, “Yes.”

She opened the folder with trembling hands, sucking in a lungful of breath as her eyes met the blurry picture of the baby. She lifted a finger and traced its outline as if caressing it. There was a question on the tip of her tongue but she held it in – it would be useless asking.

But the doctor seemed to know what she wanted to ask. “A baby girl,” he informed her.

Natasha shook her head. “Would have been a girl,” she corrected him, realistically. Steve’s voice from earlier that morning saying the name of the baby if it would have been a girl echoed in her ears. Natasha felt as if somebody had tied her heart to a boulder and dropped it into the bottom of the ocean.

“Are you sure there’s no chance of survival?” It was Pepper who asked the question. Natasha’s head whipped sideways – she had completely forgotten that the other woman was there.

She didn’t want to hear the answer; she couldn’t. This needed to be done – she wouldn’t be able to work properly if she kept this pregnancy. And Clint needed her. The thought of Clint made her wince – she knew the archer would smack her senseless if he found out that she was aborting a baby with a chance to live only so that she could fetch him from of a mission. She knew what he was going to say, so she blocked him out of her mind too.

The doctor shook his head grimly, looking at Natasha apologetically. “The fetus died, Ms. Romanoff – at least a few days ago. The infection and blood poisoning resulted from that – that’s why your sickness got worse.”

Everything was a blur after that. Natasha’s ears rang and her vision turned to flashes of motion and colors. She felt sick. Dead – the baby, _her_ baby had died. It had lost its battle a few days ago and she hadn’t even known it? What kind of a person was she? She felt numb. It wasn’t ever a choice to begin with – there had never been a choice to be made.

“Nat?” Pepper’s voice softly called her name. The blonde took Natasha’s icy hand in her warm ones, holding it, coaxing the redhead to look at her.

Natasha blinked, glancing up to see Pepper staring at her with a storm of emotion in her eyes. It angered her to see the sorrow there. She had no right to look at Natasha with so much sadness – it was not Pepper’s pain, not her loss. It was Natasha’s. Steve’s. The red haired woman wrenched her hand out of Pepper’s and balled it in a fist on her lap.

“Nat, I’m sorry,” the blonde said.

The former Russian said nothing to Pepper. She told the doctor that she was ready, and walked to the operating room unaided.

Pepper was there when she got out of surgery five hours later. She was there when Natasha finally came to many hours later, left speechless at the sight before her. Natasha’s face was blank and she was so silent as if every drop of life had been sucked out of her. It sickened Pepper to realize that in many ways, that was indeed what had just happened.

Natasha refused to look at her for so long that Pepper finally gave up and told her she was going home, but that she would be back first thing in the morning and that she hoped Natasha would still be there resting. She had only walked a couple of steps away from the bed when Natasha opened her mouth, speaking in a pained tone.

“He was going to call her Scarlett,” she said.

Pepper didn’t know what to say. Her throat tightened.  Her heart went out to her friend. She turned around and looked at Natasha, who was still staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. “That’s…” she tried, swallowing hard, “That’s a beautiful name, Nat.” She waited for a reply, but Natasha said nothing more so she left.

“It is,” Natasha whispered to the empty room long after Pepper had left. She closed her eyes and let her walls crumble, leaving her a sobbing mess, telling herself over and over that this would be her last time crying for the baby – that when she woke up tomorrow morning everything would be alright again.

It was the worst lie she had ever told herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, to be really honest with you, I never intended for this fic to turned out like this (yes, I repeated this over and over before). However, I must say that I am not sorry it turns out like this. 
> 
> For me, my stories are the means to heal myself. I tried writing about the subject of pregnancy and abortion (with different pairings back then) a couple of years ago but found that I couldn't do it. It was too difficult. It depressed me to the point that I harmed myself again (living with monsters inside your head isn't a walk in the park, some of you would relate). The fact that I can actually write it now proves that I am actually starting to heal. I am on the right tracks. I am moving forward and am on the mend. Of course I do not mean to belittle the effect of writing this story to my emotional state. Since I started writing this fic I've lost sleep - I avoid sleeping on purpose; and when I do sleep, I have nightmares. But I'm not quitting this time. 
> 
> So no, I'm not in the least sorry that I write this fic. 
> 
> As usual, I will appreciate any constructive criticism about my story. Feel free to message me and talk to me about this subject, or about anything.  
> And again, please do not bully me if you don't like my story - better yet, please do not bully anyone if you don't like their stories. Just walk away. 
> 
> Thanks.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make it clear: this isn't going to be clintasha story. No matter how close I portray Clint and Natasha in this story, they're never romantically involved, and they never will be(because I never ship them to begin with) :)
> 
> My special thanks for my beta Auraya. You're the best *kisses*
> 
> This chapter is a lot lighter than the previous ones but you can still have brownies at the end of the chapter if you like. Thanks for reading, everyone!

Steve halted in his tracks when a banner of red hair flashed in front of him as he entered the plane’s control room. He froze at the door and stared, not expecting to see Natasha there. The blond nearly jumped when suddenly he saw green eyes staring back – catching him in the act. When had she turned around?

“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s impolite to stare, Rogers?” she asked lightly; her right eyebrow rose in disapproval but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth that indicated she wasn’t seriously angry. Steve frowned at how the smirk didn’t reach her eyes but before he could say anything, Natasha walked across the room and slapped a folder against his chest without really looking at him. She had her back at him as she typed on one of the computers and told him that the briefing would be in ten minutes.

His eyes followed her movements like a moth drawn to flame, drinking in the sight of her. He still couldn’t believe that she was really here in front of him; it felt like a dream. He frowned. Was this a dream? He’d been seeing her in his dreams lately – and she had constantly been on his mind (he had even spent an hour talking about her to Peggy during his latest visit yesterday). This had to be a dream, right? The real Natasha wouldn’t be this playful with him after what had happened, would she? Or had that one been a dream instead? Everything that he thought had happened between them – could that have been a dream and this the reality?

“You’re still staring,” she pointed out, still not looking at him.

The Captain blinked, embarrassed that she had caught him red handed twice. How did she even do that? Did she have eyes on the back of her head or something? Steve walked toward her until they were side by side – not quite touching, but close enough that he could smell the scent of her shampoo each time she moved. Her hand stilled for a split second, and that was enough to tell him that he wasn’t dreaming – that she wasn’t as aloof as she wanted him to believe.

“How are you?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Fine,” she replied readily, eyes still on the monitor. She took her time checking that everything was in order before finally gracing him with a sideway glance. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyes travelled on their own to her midsection, noting that the small bump that had been there a few days ago was no more. She’d really done it. A pang of pain stabbed him in the gut and Steve clenched his jaw as anger began to bubble up his chest; he looked back up at her with a question on the tip of his tongue. But then he saw her eyes and found that he couldn’t ask; his words died before they came out. There was something in her eyes that stopped him from asking – what was it, exhaustion? Pain? Fear? Her green eyes seemed so empty while looking at him.

 She averted her eyes and resumed looking at the monitor. He noticed her hands slightly trembling and had to remind himself not to clasp those hands in his. “So,” she said, “Did you do anything fun last night?”

He schooled his expression and pretended not to notice the edge in her voice; this wasn’t the right place or time to talk about the baby, so he followed her lead to keep the topic light. “Yeah,” he said, “I painted.”

“Nude?”

Steve choked on his spit at her question; again, she had caught him by surprise. He coughed furiously until his eyes watered and his face was bright red – both from the coughing and embarrassment. The only thing that kept him from fleeing was the sound of Natasha’s chuckles next to him. She was clearly amused and he considered it an incentive.

“Funny,” he croaked after he had caught his breath again.

“So I’ve been told,” she replied, looking smug.

Steve shook his head to hide a wide grin. He hadn’t realized until just now how much he had missed this – exchanging light banter with Natasha during a mission. They didn’t do it a lot, but the banter helped them overcome some tensions before. He decided to keep this thought to himself, though, because he didn’t want her to stop. Out of his peripheral vision he saw that someone had entered the control room and he stopped grinning instantly.

“Agent Hill – Ma’am,” he greeted as soon as he saw who it was.

“Captain,” replied Maria. She looked to the woman next to him. “All set, Nat?”

Natasha grunted an answer and Steve could feel some tension between the two ladies; something wasn’t quite right in the way they interacted with each other. He glanced at Natasha; there was no smile on her face.

When other agents entered the room behind Maria, Steve observed with astonishment that Natasha seemed to instantly change. She straightened up and held her head high; arms folded across her chest. Every inch of her oozed confidence and a sense of superiority, just like every other time she had been on a mission. Steve had missed this too – seeing Natasha in all her professional glory.

A subtle disapproving glare from Natasha reminded him that they were in a briefing. He quickly turned his focus to Maria, but apparently she had just brought the briefing to an end and was letting the agents ask questions. He listened attentively to the questions and her answers, trying to make head or tail of it without much success. He would have to read the files himself to catch up.

Once the briefing was over, Maria dismissed all six of them – four agents plus Steve and Nat – and told them the estimated time of arrival. Steve and Natasha were the last two people to leave the control room. She stopped him as they stepped out of the room.

“Put your head in the game, Cap. Don’t mess this up,” she warned with a hiss. She glared at the confused look he was throwing her and then left without any explanations other than pointing at the folder still in his hands.

He kept looking at her until she disappeared around corner before he opened the folder. Upon reading the first sentence, he understood the warning. And he understood why she was involved. This wasn’t just any mission. It was a mission to rescue Hawkeye. Barton had missed his check-in deadline.

 

* * *

 

Natasha had been staring at the same page of her book for the last forty minutes; the more she tried to focus on her reading, the more her brain seemed to travel to elsewhere. She was trying to ignore all her nagging thoughts – and was failing miserably.

She clicked her tongue impatiently when her mind drifted to her earlier phone conversation with Maria, the urge to strangle the other woman surfacing again. She still didn’t understand why Maria had felt the need to not only send a team but also to supervise on site. Yet that wasn’t what had made Natasha furious. The way Maria had flat out refused her request to be sent in alone after Clint to extract him from whatever shit he’d gotten himself into had enraged the redhead.

Maria had even had the nerve to leave her with two options – either Natasha joined the team or she was banned from the mission. The former Russian had had to swallow her pride and give in; knowing fully well that she wouldn’t have acquiesced if it hadn’t been for Clint. “Damn you, Barton,” she hissed into the empty space of her quarters.

Thinking about Clint made her stomach churn with worry; she hated the feeling. And when worrying about Clint, she always regretted caring too much for the other agent. But how could she not care, when he’d done so many things for her? When she owed him everything?

Clint was the only person she could really trust. He was the only person aside from Fury who was able to bring her back on track; the only person who wasn’t afraid to call her out on her bad judgments. Did she love him? In a way, yes – like a child loves their family, a girl loves her brother. He was the family she’d never had, a brother she’d wished. And yes, that was enough for her to be willing to go to hell and back for him.

The thought of family left a bitter taste in her mouth. When her mind drifted off to a family she could have had, Natasha bit her tongue. _No, stop_ , she warned herself as she began to think about the baby. About Steve.

There had been several times when she had been really tempted to contact him after the surgery. Pepper had kept her company during her stay at the hospital, but Natasha had felt guilty keeping the CEO from her work so she’d told the other woman that she would be fine alone at her apartment. And she had been fine – almost; if only there had been no nightmares.

Her dreams had haunted her every time she’d fallen asleep. No matter how low she would set the temperature before going to bed, Natasha would wake up drenched in sweat. Once or twice, after having awoken from one of her worst dreams, she had caught herself reaching for her phone, starting to dial Steve’s number from memory. She’d always stopped before she could press the call button, reminding herself that she had no rights dragging him into her personal hell; that their relationship had to return to the way it had used to be: purely professional.

That was easier said than done. She still hadn’t been able to un-see what she had seen in Steve. All the compassion he possessed, his will to sacrifice his moral value, his vulnerability, his strength – all those things; how could she un-see them? How could she pretend that she’d never seen them?

She was too involved to be able to see him from the eyes of a bystander. She would be too biased. And it was dangerous – it had to stop. She didn’t want Steve to be a second Clint. She didn’t want him to be more than a second Clint.

Her closeness with Clint had given her enough headaches through years; they sometimes lost objectivity when it came to the other, and this could be fatal in their line of work. Their enemies could use this knowledge to hurt them. She certainly didn’t need Steve to give her additional headaches in the future, and she had a feeling that the blond would give her more than just headaches if she let it be.

That was why she had treated him the way she had earlier – she hoped that he’d get the hint. For his own sake (or more for hers), she hoped that it would be easy for him to forget that once, for a few weeks, they were going to be parents together. The problem was that she knew it wouldn’t be easy for her. Not anymore.

A knock on her door interrupted her musing. Before Natasha could move from her bunk, the automatic door slid open. Her bad mood returned in full force when she saw Maria enter, and she berated herself for not locking the door. She kept her eyes on her books, determined to ignore the brunette even as she sat down at the foot of her bed.

“You’re pissed at me,” the brunette stated.

“How very perceptive of you,” replied Natasha coolly, casually flipping to the next page of her book.

“I have my reasons, okay?” Maria began after a while. She really wanted to clear the air between them.

Natasha said nothing. She knew she was being difficult, but she wasn’t going to make it easy for Maria – her reasons be damned.

“Look, I don’t want you to lose your head in the mission. I thought – you know, it’s Barton we’re talking about and…” Maria’s words died mid-sentence as she saw Natasha looking at her with a piercing, angry glare from the top of her book. “And I believe I’ve just insulted you,” she said quietly.

“You’re getting there, Sherlock,” the redhead deadpanned coldly. She shut her book not so gently and threw it to the floor where it fell with a thud.  “What do you think Clint is to me, honestly?”

It was a trick question – Maria knew that no matter what her answer was, it would be wrong. She was walking on eggshells now. “You both are pretty close,” she said carefully, “You care about him. More than a colleague – more than… more than only platonically?”

She’d guessed that Maria would say that, and it only made her angrier. Natasha had had already enough of this talk with Fury and she wasn’t going to explain herself to Maria. The brunette may be Fury’s second in command and Natasha’s friend, but she had no business meddling in her personal life.

“And what are you suggesting? That we’re involved – what? Sexually? Romantically?” she asked evenly. In Maria’s silence the redhead got her answer. She snorted. “And so what? Not that it’s any of your business anyway, but do you honestly think that just because I’m fucking him I can’t control myself? That I’ll jeopardize the mission? This is the second time you’ve insinuated your distrust in my professionalism, Hill.”

Natasha didn’t even raise her voice but Maria could hear the underlying threat in her voice. She wasn’t fooled one bit by the other woman’s relaxed stance, or by the smile Natasha had on her face as if they had only been talking about the weather. Maria had known Natasha long enough to know that the calmer the redhead appeared to be on the surface, the more dangerous she was.

Maria knew that she was in the wrong (again) – it had been tactless of her to hint that Natasha wouldn’t be at a hundred percent during the mission only because of her (assumed) relationship with Barton. She opened her mouth to explain, but Natasha didn’t even give her any time to do it.

“If something happens to Clint just because you think I’m fucking him and that it’ll cloud my judgment, I’m holding you personally responsible.” Natasha glowered at her. “Get the hell out of my sight.”

 

* * *

 

She was still seething when someone knocked at her door again not even an hour later. Natasha slammed her book shut. Who else now? Couldn’t a woman read in peace on this plane? She wondered if it was Maria outside – was the brunette actually suicidal enough to return before Natasha had had a chance to cool down? She doubted it. But if it wasn’t her, who else would be brave enough to come to her quarter willingly? _Ah_ , something clicked in Natasha’s brain. _Right_. She had actually forgotten another person – the star spangled Captain. It had to be him.

Natasha threw her hands in the air, frustrated. Why couldn’t people leave her alone? The most important thing – why couldn’t Steve leave her alone? She didn’t want to see him. Not now. She didn’t want to see him outside professional setting where he could bring up the baby. No, she didn’t want to see him. The red haired spy decided to ignore the knocking only surprisingly find herself standing up and opening the door in the next second.

Steve looked so out of place in his dark blue skintight uniform. He shuffled awkwardly, like he was unsure as to whether he should be there. Natasha knew that she had to steal the conversation away before he could say anything she didn’t want to talk about. So she teased him.

“I don’t do nude modeling for paintings,” she said, placing one hand on her hip. In less than a second she watched in amusement how Steve’s skin turned red from his neck to the roots of his hair. Natasha hid her smirk as he looked around to see if anyone heard her. “Problem, Cap?” she asked innocently, keeping a neutral expression.

Steve opened and closed his mouth in an attempt to respond. His eyes widened in surprise when a minute later Natasha slid the door open further and stepped aside in silent invitation. It seemed that he had come expecting her to slam the door in his face.

The bunk was so small that it was almost impossible for Steve not to brush against Natasha once the door was closed. She jumped onto her bed and sat with her back pressed against the wall, as if she wanted to create as much space as possible with Steve, who was now sitting at the edge of the bunk.

“So…” Natasha began.

“I don’t paint nudes,” Steve blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Then he looked so scandalized by his own words that Natasha laughed – a loud, genuine laughter that sounded like music to his ears. He could get used to her laughter, he thought. _Don’t_ , he reminded himself.

Natasha kept laughing for a while. She wiped a tear from her eye as she shook her head. “No – no, of course you don’t,” she agreed. God, of all the things he could have said! “Jeez, of course you don’t!”

Steve scratched behind his ears awkwardly. For a moment he forgot why he had gone to Natasha’s quarter in the first place and let himself enjoy the sound of Natasha trying to stifle her laughter. He smiled shyly back when she winked at him teasingly.

The spy cleared her throat and forced herself to stop laughing. “So, what are you doing here, Cap?” she asked when she could control herself. _Please don’t say that you want to talk about the baby_ , she prayed.

“Just wondering if you’re okay,” he replied truthfully. She stilled and he realized right then how his words might have sounded, what they might have implied. Steve explained himself in a hurry. “No – I don’t… I’m not… That’s not really wha–..,” he stumbled on his words. Steve took a deep breath. “The mission. I was talking about the mission.”

He wasn’t lying – she could see genuine panic in his eyes. “What about the mission?” she asked, keeping her tone light. 

“I just realized that this was the one you told me about,” he said, careful not to mention when she had told him. “Are you worried?”

“About what?”

“You know – the usual.” He was dodging the question and he knew it. She raised an eyebrow and he relented. “Barton. Are you worried about him?” he finally asked.

Natasha rolled her eyes. When was she _not_? Clint always did stupid things and worrying about him was part of the package. “I never _not_ worry about him,” she said.

Steve gazed at her as if wanting to give some moral support but not knowing how. “He’ll be okay,” he offered empty words, “He’s still alive.”

“Oh, he’d better be. And I don’t really need convincing, Rogers – I know he’s still alive.” Did she really? But what else could she say? That she was so damn scared for Clint’s life? That the thought of losing the one friend that mattered was killing her? That she couldn’t bear losing anyone else – not so soon after she had lost her ba–.. Natasha stopped right there. She didn’t want to think about it – she couldn’t let herself think about it if she wanted to look impassive. “I’m going to hit him so hard he’ll see stars for the rest of the week.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

“Don’t rain on my parade, Cap. I’m serious.”

Steve smiled. “Never dreamed of it.”

“Good.” She then got up, indicating that their discussion was over.

Steve stood as well, catching the hint. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome, but he also couldn’t shake the disappointment that their conversation ended so abruptly. But what else was new, right? This had always been the way they communicated during missions – even without interruptions, they would start and stop at any point. It was naïve of him to think that it would change.

It was what Natasha wanted, he told himself. From the look of it, she was trying so hard to return their relationship to what it had been – businesslike, professional – and he respected her wishes. But somehow he knew it wasn’t enough now, he was no longer satisfied with only being colleagues. He wanted something more – her friendship, her trust, her lo… Steve gritted his teeth. What was that?

He let her usher him out silently until the door was almost completely shut. Then he suddenly called out her name. She looked at him questioningly.

“You’ll let me help this time, won’t you?” he asked, hoping. “With Barton – you’ll let me help?”

Natasha thought she saw a flash of something in his eyes when he mentioned Clint’s name, it was gone so quickly she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. She rested her head against the door. “Yeah,” she said. “Of course, Ste-.. Cap.”

He noticed the slip. When she refused to say his name, “Steve,” he corrected, feeling something unpleasant bloom in his chest. “My name is Steve.”

“I know,” she replied; a sad smile forming at the corner of her mouth. She moved to close the door between them and was startled when his hand stopped the door from closing. “What the–…”

“What makes it so difficult for you to call me Steve?” he asked. Even as the words fell from his mouth, he knew that this feeling of wanting her to call him by his name was irrational. But Steve couldn’t stop himself. “You call a lot of people by their given names – you even call Dr. Banner ‘Bruce’ at times.”

He took her by surprise for a moment before it turned to anger. “Don’t patronize me!” she warned lowly. “I will call you whatever I like.” She pushed at his chest trying to make him leave but he wouldn’t budge. “Don’t make me hurt you,” she warned.

“Believe me, you have,” he replied.

Her hands stilled on his chest at his answer. “What do you want from me?” she asked, exhausted.

“Only for you to call me by my name. What’s so hard about it?”

 _You have no idea_ , Natasha thought. “I don’t want to.”

“Give me one reason why and I will never ask you again,” he insisted, uncaring at how needy he sounded at that moment, “At least I deserve that.”

“Are you seriously asking me this right now? Do I need to remind you that we’re on a mission, Cap?” her tone turned cold. Who did he think he was? “Or should I tell Maria that you aren’t fit for duty?”

He could see it plain and clear now – she was afraid. But afraid of what? Him? Steve balled his fists until the knuckles turned white. “I just want us to be friends, like before.”

“Cap, we’ve never been friends,” she pointed out matter-of-factly.

“No – you’re right,” he agreed. “We’ve always been colleagues. You only happened to be pregnant once with my baby.” A look at her eyes told him that he had said the wrong thing; he watched as all colors left her face and how she staggered back into the room, trembling. Steve felt like a jerk.

“Natasha,” he began.

Natasha shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. Memories of her surgery flashed in her eyes and she choked as she felt phantom pain in her stomach. “Don’t,” she said when she saw him entering her room again, closing the door behind him. “Don’t.”

He had her in his arms in an instant, flooded with guilt at feeling her quivering frame. Stupid, stupid Steve – he berated himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair, “God, I’m so sorry.” He tightened his hold on hers when he felt her push against him.

“Steve, don’t – please,” she pleaded. “Please, we’re on a mission.”

She was right. He felt as if a bucket of ice had just been dumped on his head. What the hell was he thinking? Steve let go of her, looking shamefaced. He muttered his apology, assuring her that it would never happen again. He turned to leave when he felt her hand on his elbow, halting his movement.

“Steve, I –…” she began but couldn’t find the word to finish.

 “We can’t ever be friends, can we?” he asked.

“No. It’s impossible.” His shoulders slumped in defeat but she kept her hand on him, coaxing him to look at her. When their eyes met again, she added, “But doable.”

A spark of hope ignited in his eyes and Steve smiled at her. “Doable,” he repeated. He swore he had never liked a word as much as now. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: violence against women and children (and Clint), blood, needles, torture, gun
> 
> My beta said that I need to trigger warning the hell out of this chapter. Please don't read this if one of those things makes you uncomfortable. 
> 
> Thank you, Auraya, for betaing for me. I <3 you. 
> 
> Anyway, not much interaction between Steve and Nat this chapter, but I still innocently believe that you're here for the plot. Thanks for reading. I'm going to shut up now.

Natasha hated rescue missions. To be more specific, she disliked rescue missions where she had to work in a team. To be painfully specific, Natasha despised rescue missions with a team that she was not in charge of.

She wasn’t going to deny that Maria and Steve were better team leaders than herself – they prioritized the safety of the team members while doing the job. Natasha had only one goal when working: getting the job done no matter the cost. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t lead a team; she could if she really had to, and to deny her team leadership was not acceptable. It seemed that both Fury and Hill had forgotten Natasha was worse at following orders than she was at giving them, especially when she was pissed.

And, boy, was she pissed at the moment. They were having their last briefing now before they arrived in Prague in less than an hour. Maria laid out the strategy for everyone and Natasha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. There were only six of them – nine, if you counted Maria, the pilot, and co-pilot – and the brunette was opting for an open ambush as if there were no other options.

The redhead blocked whatever information Maria was giving them, pouring all her concentration in memorizing the scraps of details S.H.I.E.L.D had managed to find about the building they were supposed to ambush. The gears in her brain turned as she mapped out her own rescue plan. To hell with Maria’s strategy – she had better plans.

The monitor she was studying suddenly blinked and turned dark. Natasha whirled around to see Maria glaring at her. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned the spy.

“Too late for that.” Natasha tapped a finger to her temple, indicating that she’d gotten what she needed.

“Nat!” Maria exclaimed, “You’re risking everyone’s lives.”

“No,” countered Natasha, dangerously calm, “ _You_ are risking Clint’s life.” With the brunette’s plan, Natasha was certain Clint would be murdered before they could even say ‘S.H.I.E.L.D.’

“This isn’t your call,” the senior agent said, “And this is bigger than an agent’s life – you of all people should know that.”

Clenching her jaw, Natasha stepped forward until she was only inches away from Maria’s face. “And you of all people should know that I’m only here to get Clint out of there.”

The two women glowered at each other, silently warning the other to back down but neither would relent. They didn’t take their eyes off each other and when somebody from the team started to speak; both lifted a finger and warned the person at the same time.

“This is not a good time, Captain!”

“Stay out of this, Steven!”

Steve stopped whatever he was about to say right that instant, mostly because of the way Natasha had addressed him rather than the warning. He glanced around to see if anybody else had noticed, but apparently they were too busy watching the two high-ranking agents argue.

It was Maria who finally relented. “How long will you need?”

“Twenty minutes top,” Natasha replied after making a quick mental calculation.

The team leader shook her head. “Too long. You’ve got fifteen.”

“Eighteen.”

“Sixteen – and that’s my last offer.”

Natasha scowled. “Not a second before that,” she said, walking away from the meeting room. When she strode past Steve, she shot him a warning glare. “That goes for you too, Cap.”

 

* * *

 

 

The building was too quiet, Natasha decided while eyeing the surroundings. From where she was perching on a tree branch, she couldn’t see any security cameras – and that alarmed her. This could be a trap. There were five guards around the perimeter, none of whom seemed to be carrying weapons; that could only mean two things – either she was at the wrong place or those people were dangerous even without guns.

She took one glance at her watch and decided that she didn’t have time to mull over her options – she had to think on her feet. She scaled down the tree in complete silence and opted to circle the building, hoping for an opening at the back. She wanted to avoid confrontation for now – that was Maria and the team’s job.

As she had predicted, there were no guards at the eastern part of the building – the side that was facing the Vltava River. Apparently these people thought that the river provided a safe barrier from intruders. How naïve. Or not. Natasha froze as she suddenly heard a whirring electronic noise from above her. She glanced up and saw a security camera turning. Well, shit, she thought. Her heart pounding against her ribcage, she waited; she had her hand on her earpiece, ready to turn the comm back at the first sign of trouble.

Nothing happened after three seconds and Natasha quickly moved out of the camera range, hoping that it was too dark out for the camera to catch her – unless it was one of those advanced security camera with geothermal reading and/or infrared. Then she was doomed.

She saw an open window on the second floor and was thankful the wall was made of stones instead of bricks as she climbed up. It surely made her work a lot easier. Then, when she was about halfway up, she heard it – the cocking of a rifle right above her. Oops.

“Don’t move,” a man spoke gruffly in Czech when Natasha looked up. He pressed the barrel of the rifle to her forehead.

“Don’t shoot,” she replied in the same language. She climbed slowly, following his order for her to come up. She thought hard of what she was supposed to do next; she could take this man down, she was sure of it. But if she had been caught on security camera, there was a chance that the whole building knew she was there – she couldn’t risk attacking openly before she could find where they were holding Clint. She had to pretend that she surrendered. But of course, she wasn’t stupid. Just before entering the house via the window, Natasha pressed a button to turn her comm back on – silently informing Maria that she had been made.

Natasha had barely stood up properly when the beefy man hit her in the face with his rifle, forcing her to fall to her knees. The pain was blinding and Natasha knew she’d just gotten a hairline fracture to her cheekbone if not worse. She could taste blood in her mouth and she spat it out; that earned her another blow to the head. Before she could react, the man kicked her and pressed her head down to the floor with his foot. The heel of his boot bit into her scalp and she had to remind herself not to make a sound.

She growled when she felt several pairs of hands patting her down and stripping her of all her secret weapons, including her widow’s bite; she felt violated – and was totally furious. However, she considered herself lucky that her head was held down, or they’d find her comm too. She bit her tongue when her hands were stepped on by two other people as she tried to get up. The pain was excruciating.

“Who are you?”

“Natasha,” she replied cheekily despite the throbbing in her head and hands.

“Russian,” the man hissed spitefully. “We hate Russians.”

She rolled her eyes. “Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

The Czech drove his foot even harder on her head at the comeback, adding enough weight so that Natasha felt as if her head was going to explode with pain. _Breathe,_ she reminded herself, _breathe_.

He released her head and kicked her in the side. “Stand up!” he ordered and barked at the other two people stepping on her hands to let go. Impatiently, he grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled hard until Natasha’s neck bent backward at an awkward angle. “Get up!” he said.

She pushed upwards, telling herself that she only submitted to this treatment because she needed to buy time to find Clint. She winced internally when the same guard gripped the back of her neck and pressed a rifle into her back. From the angle in which he was holding her neck, Natasha knew she was dealing with a martial artist – that he could break her neck in a matter of seconds if she made the wrong move. She hissed as her arms were pulled back and handcuffed.

It was right then when her comm crackled to life in her ear. Although instead of hearing Maria’s voice, it was Steve who spoke to tell her they were five minutes away. He sounded worried, but she pushed that thought away. She only hoped that she had enough time to find Clint.

They led her downstairs, to the study, and she wasn’t in the least surprised when they moved a very large painting of Vaclav Haval on the wall to reveal a secret elevator behind it. Classic, she thought mockingly. The trip to the hidden basement didn’t take long, and Natasha hoped that they would lead her straight to Clint. She was wrong.

The basement was larger than she’d thought – the main corridor split into two at the far end, and there were rows of identical, unmarked doors on her sides. She didn’t have the chance to see anything more; a guard moved in front of her, blocking her view, punched her on the stomach and put a burlap sack over her head. She felt her elbows grabbed from both sides and she was half dragged farther down the corridor.

_“Two minutes_ ,” Steve’s voice spoke again.

Natasha began counting down, multitasking between counting and trying to remember which direction they were taking her; information necessary for her future escape. She felt a chill runn down her spine when she heard a muffled scream from somewhere on her right. A child’s voice. What the hell? What was a child doing down here? This was supposed to be a meth lab!

The shrieking got louder as the door in front of her opened. Natasha strained her ears to hear what the child was saying but she couldn’t really make it out. They stopped walking and a guard removed the sack from her; then she was shoved into a metal cage.

She blinked at the sudden brightness but quickly focused on her surroundings, finding the crying child. He was a boy of no more than eight, and he was begging for something. She was struggling with her handcuffs when a guard cocked their rifle and pressed it into the boy’s head. And shot.

Natasha cried out a ‘no’ involuntarily. A child had just gotten killed in front of her and she couldn’t do anything about it. The men turned to her. And they began to laugh. She felt sick to the stomach and her eyes burned with unshed tears as she threw them a long look, memorizing their faces.

“ _Natasha? What’s wrong?_ ”

“I don’t have two minutes, Cap,” she breathed into her comm, hoping that the men were too busy laughing to notice that she was speaking.

“ _Twenty seconds – we have visual_ ,” Steve replied tersely, “ _Ten_.”

“Anytime now, Cap,” she hissed into the comm while doing a mental counting down. No answer. “Steve!”

The answer came in the form of a blaring alarm, and there was an instant chaos. The guards were distracted enough for Natasha to quickly dislocate a wrist and get out of her cuffs, snatching the keys to the cage from the guard standing closest to her before they retreated without a second glance.

Natasha moved after they had closed the door behind them; she sucked in a sharp breath and twisted her wrist back into place. She ignored the mild shaking of her hands as she opened her cage and tried not to look at the lifeless small body covered in a puddle of his own blood on the floor as she walked to the door. She listened for footsteps, and when she heard none she opened the door. She threw one last look at the boy and promised that she was going to make them pay.

The basement was empty – or it looked empty; they must all have gone upstairs to deal with the ambush. Now she had time to properly look for Clint. She walked quickly, all senses alert to anticipate an attack. She tried every door, and each time she was disappointed.

Until she tried the eighth door to her left and found that it was locked. She contemplated between kicking it open and picking the lock for a second before deciding it was faster to kick it in. She braced herself for the impact and kicked only to feel pain shooting through her body – the door was solid steel.

“Ugh, fuck!” she hissed.

“ _Natasha, status_?” Steve suddenly spoke again.

“Alive,” she grunted.

“ _Where are you_?”

“Basement. How’s it going up there?”

There was a pause before Steve answered her. “ _I’ve seen worse_. _You okay down there_?”

“Brilliant,” she said while trying to pick the lock. She was about to end the conversation when she remembered something. “Cap, they got my gear.” The last thing she wanted was for the bastards to get ahold of the technology in her weapons.

“ _Okay, I’m on it_.” Another pause. “ _Be careful_.”

She cut the conversation without replying, focusing on the task at hand instead. A triumphant smile adorned her face when she heard the unmistakable click of the lock being opened. Although her smile faltered in the next second, for what she saw inside made her blood boil in rage.

Clint was strapped down into a dentist chair, under bright surgery lamps. There was a machine hooked around his face to keep him from moving, and to keep his eyes from closing. As if that wasn’t enough, there was another machine placed right in front of his face, with two needles poking just half an inch away from his eyes. Natasha let out a growl at the sight and quickly went to him.

“Nat?” Clint weakly spoke when he heard her voice.

“I’m here,” she answered readily. “It’s okay now – you’re okay.” The first thing she did was to yank the needle machine away from Clint’s eyes and turn off the bright lamp above him. She ignored him calling her name and proceeded to unhook the strap that kept his eyes open. “Close your eyes – close your eyes,” she ordered frantically, covering Clint’s eyes with her hands because he kept on staring. “Clint, close your eyes!”

“Nat,” he began again.

“Keep your eyes closed,” was all she said. Natasha rummaged around in the cabinets to find something to bind his eyes with. He could go blind if he didn’t keep his eyes closed, and the thought made her shake. She couldn’t bear the thought of it – Clint going blind. He was going to be devastated. She found  strips of bandages and quickly put them around his eyes. “Keep them on,” she said. “I’m going to take you out of here.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered as she untied him.

“The hell I shouldn’t.” She worked quickly with the straps, cutting the last of them with a scalpel she had found. She pretended not to notice the bruises and wounds on his skin, not wanting to feel anything right now.

“The kids – Nat, the kids.”

Clint was in shock and Natasha knew it. She took his hand and squeezed, assuring him that everything was going to be alright. “Let’s get you out of here,” she said when she was done with the straps. Clint was too weak to move; he leaned heavily on her and almost sent them both to the floor as Natasha herself was half injured.

“I found him, Cap,” she spoke into her comm while Clint was still mumbling something about the children. She frowned. Were there more kids down here? “I need backup.”

“ _Coming_ ,” replied Steve.

“Come on, Clint, move it!” she hissed and started to drag his weight, trying to block out his pained moan in every step they took.

“The kids,” he whispered again, feeling his consciousness slipping. “They’re here too.”

Natasha swallowed hard. “Stay with me, Barton!” she barked. And his reply was about the children again. “I’m going to find them, but you’ve got to stay with me.” She was too busy with Clint and was slow to realize someone was entering the room. Her body instantly tensed until she recognized the uniform. Natasha looked up and was met with a familiar face. “Steve,” she sighed in pure relief.

The Captain took in the sight of her and Clint, and quickly moved to her aid, taking the weight of Clint, who was now fully unconscious, off of her. “I’ve got him,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“How’s everything up there?”

“Agent Hill is wrapping things up. You really worried her,” he said, eyeing her once again and frowning at the swelling and blood on her face. “And she’s got a good reason to.”

Natasha ignored him and moved quickly out of the room, clearing the way for them. “All clear,” she said. Then, remembering what Clint had said about the children, she told Steve to go ahead first. “There’s something I need to check.” He looked disturbed at the prospect of splitting up. “Clint said something about children being here, we can’t leave them if it’s true.”

“I’m sending people here,” he said then left, speaking to his comm as he walked to the elevator.

It didn’t take longer than a minute for a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D agents to arrive and begin scouting the rest of the doors with her. They found nothing – the only child they spotted was the one that Natasha had seen earlier.

“All clear, Agent Romanoff,” one of the agents reported to her.

Natasha nodded but did a last check anyway. If Clint had said something was there, something had to be there. The first four rooms she entered had rows of empty long tables in them – she suspected that they used them to cook meth. The fifth room looked like a communal bathroom sans the showerheads; everything was covered in white tiles, and there were drains on the floor.

It didn’t take her but a second to register why the room had been designed that way. Natasha shook with rage, storming out to check the last room. Her rage dissipated in an instant and turned into dreadful understanding as she saw what was in the room.

Pictures of children were pinned onto a large board on one wall; most of the pictures were crossed out in red. There were medical apparatuses in the room, complete with an operating table and a gurney. Memories of her own childhood flashed in her eyes – tests after tests, injections after injections – and she swayed on her feet, feeling light-headed. She stumbled backwards until her back hit the wall, her breathing was labored. She felt her blood pumping so fast it made her ears roar. This was not a meth lab.

“Natasha?”

Steve’s voice pierced through the roaring in her ears. When had he come back? Natasha turned her head to look at the Captain, who was staring at her in confusion. Something in his eyes brought her back from the haunting memories and she didn’t flinch when he moved to her side. But she couldn’t speak yet. Out of corner of her eyes she saw Maria entering the room; she heard the other woman’s breath hitch. She assumed the brunette realized what she was seeing too.

“This was never a meth lab,” she whispered when she finally found her voice. “They’re experimenting on children.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: See chapter one
> 
> Hi guys, sorry it took so long for me to update. I have a lot of things happening in real life, including the sudden death of my faithful ol' laptop. I lost a lot of data, including the next chapters of this story. I have to rewrite everything again and it means it will take even longer for me to update the story. I understand if you guys have given up on this story. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll stop babbling. I hope I didn't disappoint you with this chapter. 
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, Auraya. Happy birthday, darling. And welcome back home from wilderness!

Steve had been watching Natasha from behind the glass panel separating the corridor and the medical bay for god-knows-how-many hours, not knowing what to do. The redhead had been sitting on the floor by Clint’s bed eversince they had boarded the plane, not moving an inch from her initial position – knees drawn to her chest and arms wrapped around them. She’d quietly been staring emptily at nothing.

Natasha looked exhausted; Steve noticed how her eyes had started to droop a couple of times but she’d forced them back open as if she was afraid to fall asleep. Her right cheek was swollen and Steve really wished she hadn’t refused the medical treatment offered to her earlier – she had to be in pain right now.

During the time that Steve’d spent watching her, Natasha had only spoken three times; when Clint had started to have panic attacks. To Steve’s alarm, the redhead hadn’t even looked up or blinked while speaking; she’d monotonously recited trivial information like Clint’s name, her own name, where Clint had been and where they were now like a broken record. Judging from the way the injured man had immediately calmed down each time, Steve had guessed that this must have been one of Natasha and Clint’s secret codes. He’d wondered if the two agents really did have codes for every situation.

He turned his focus to Clint. The archer had been slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the flight; unsurprisingly, considering that his body was still in shock from the torture, starvation, and dehydration. The man had been through a lot during this past week or so. His eyes were still bandaged to keep his optical nerves from more damage. Steve suspected that this was the cause of Clint’s panic – that, and because the shorter man had to be restrained so that he couldn’t tear his bandages off. Clint had been talking in his sleep, muttering something about experiments, drugs, and children. Steve noticed how Natasha’s face would harden every time the other man spoke of it.

The Captain felt like an intruder watching his colleagues like this, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He had tried earlier, and it’d only taken him a few minutes before he’d returned, feeling too anxious to leave Natasha alone. It was silly really, because all he’d been doing was standing outside the door. He was conflicted – on one hand he wanted to ask if Natasha needed anything at all; on the other, he didn’t want to impose while their newly built friendship was still on shaky ground. Besides, he dreaded that she’d refuse his company, and this prospect made him uncomfortable. Steve frowned, confused by this sudden discomfort.

He wouldn’t deny that Natasha had grown on him in a lot of ways; he didn’t remember or know when and how it’d happened, but it had probably been only a little while after the Chitauri invasion. And now he felt the way he saw her had shifted again into another indescribable thing. She’d not only grown on him – but she’d wrapped her roots around his being.

It actually wouldn’t have been a problem had he known for sure that this _thing_ he was feeling for Natasha was only there because he knew her better personally now (or so he hoped). The problem was that he couldn’t be sure that this wasn’t something born out of his guilt and regret because he hadn’t been able to do the right thing – for both Natasha and their child. This bothered him a lot in many ways.

Steve whirled around when he heard footsteps from the corridor behind him, followed by very loud laughter. The two agents walking spotted him and stopped laughing, nodded at him and quickly left. Steve waited until they were out of view before he resumed what he’d been doing – watching Natasha. And thinking. But mostly watching Natasha.

She hadn’t moved an inch and he was starting to suspect that she was in shock too. Maybe he really needed to go in there. But before he could move, he saw that Clint had begun thrashing around again. Steve glanced at Natasha.

“Clint,” Natasha’s voice sounded tired but it still held enough authority that Clint stopped flailing for a split second before he continued. She still stared into space as she continued, “You’re Clint – Clint Barton. This is me, Natasha. You’ve been in Prague. We’re on the plane home to New York.”

The unconscious man instantly relaxed, no longer pulling at his restraints. Steve watched with some unpleasant feeling in his chest, something that he now recognized as envy. Yes, the soldier envied what Natasha had with Clint – whatever their relationship was. He envied the trust Clint had for Natasha, one that could make the archer stop panicking only with a few words in her voice; he resente–.. Steve stopped himself before he could continue. ‘Resent’ was too harsh of a word to describe his feelings. Yet, it was partially true – he begrudged the way Natasha cared so much for Clint that she was willing to sacrifice _everything_ for the man.

Natasha had told him that it wasn’t love, that it was a debt she’d owed Clint. Steve had believed her then; now, he wasn’t sure if he still did. Was Natasha so blind that she couldn’t see it? Was she in denial? Or was Steve too green with envy that he was imagining things?

He’d totally blame this on exhaustion later, but right now he didn’t care if he was being illogical. He wanted to know so badly why it had to be Clint that Natasha trusted – no, why it had to be _only_ Clint and not him, too. At this moment he refused to understand what he’d already known: that Clint and Natasha had known each other for a long time; that the two agents had a shared history which Steve had never been part of.

Then something crossed his mind – the night Natasha had come to his place. What if she’d only come because Clint had been on a mission? Steve clenched his jaw at the thought. If Barton hadn’t been on a mission, would she have even come to Steve? Wouldn’t she have gone to the other man instead?

And it was like he’d opened Pandora’s Box, Steve was suddenly consumed by another toxic thought. Natasha’s pregnancy. Their baby. Their child had died because of Clint – because Natasha had chosen him over their baby. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t help the overwhelming rage that bubbled up, replacing the envy he’d been feeling. Steve knew that he had to leave now before he did something that he’d regret later. He turned abruptly and left the medical bay with large strides, missing how Natasha instantly lifted her head at the sound of his departure and watched him until he disappeared from her line of sight.

 

* * *

 

Natasha knew something wasn’t right when she saw Steve’s hasty departure. Having ignored Steve the whole time didn’t mean that she hadn’t noted his presence. She had. She’d only ignored him because she still didn’t want to talk to anybody, not before she could talk to Clint – and she knew that Steve always wanted to talk. Natasha had noticed that Steve had looked upset for a while before he’d finally left. She could guess why.

He must have been thinking about the baby again. The way he’d looked at Clint just before he’d left had given him away. Natasha sighed. Steve was a good man, but he wasn’t a saint. He didn’t know that the baby had died before the abortion and she suspected that now that the danger was behind them, he was starting to blame Clint.

Or maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was really that forgiving – the saint people believed him to be. Natasha had lost count of how many times she’d been wrong about Steve in the past couple of months. She thought she’d figured everything out about Steve’s characteristics and reactions; after all, she’d studied him meticulously – read all his files and observed his responses during distress on the various missions they’d worked together. She wasn’t so sure about it now.

Natasha shook her head and winced when the pain from her cheek shot straight to her brain. She didn’t want to think about Steve any longer. She turned her focus back to Clint. She couldn’t see his face from her position, but she didn’t make any effort to move. It was enough for her as long as she could see that he was really there.

The redhead wasn’t stupid; she knew that she was adding fuel to the rumor about her and Clint by staying in the medical bay while looking like a zombie. Right now that was none of her concern. Clint needed her to stay. And she needed to stay too; she needed to reassure herself that Clint was really here with her – safe and still alive.

She wanted Clint to wake up. Really awake and not disoriented and on the verge of a panic attack like he’d just been. It was selfish of her, but she really needed him to wake up and tell her what had happened; she needed to know about the experiment he’d been mumbling about – the experiment on children. She was dying to find out what the children had been subjected to: had they been experimented on with biological warfare drugs? (It was possible, considering that the pictures of the children she’d seen had been multiracial). Or had they been children in training – like herself? Would those kids, whoever survived, have to lead the same life as Natasha? The thought left her distraught.

The red haired spy had somewhat made peace with her own past; she knew that she could never turn back time to undo what had been done to her, undo what she’d done. She could feel painful sting whenever she remembered her past, but the memory of her childhood and younger self no longer hurt her as much as they had before. However, she wouldn’t let anyone ruin any other children’s futures – no matter for what reasons. She would see to it that she’d stop them.

She took one last glance at Clint. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said, “It’s high time you and I talked.” He didn’t move. Natasha sighed audibly and looked away, staring back into space until all her thoughts were nothing but a buzz at the back of her mind, along with the throbbing of her swollen cheek.

 

* * *

 

Steve returned a little while later with some food after having calmed himself down. He was clearly surprised to see Natasha lift her head and look him in the eye when he entered the room.

“You left.”

He put the tray of food in front of her and took his time before replying. “I did.”

“You left angry,” she stated. It wasn’t a question.

He avoided her eyes. “Yes,” he confirmed, neither elaborating nor asking how she’d known. The man ran a hand through his hair and sat next to her, occupying what small space was left on the floor. He focused his gaze on a small bolt in Clint’s stretcher.

Natasha opened her mouth but quickly closed it again when words eluded her. After a while, when Steve had said nothing else, she broke the silence. “Clint and I…” she paused when she heard Steve inhale sharply. She glanced over and saw his jaw tighten at the mention of Clint. Natasha sighed and tried again, “Clint and I – we go way back.” She kept looking at Steve, who refused to look at her. “For years he’s been the only person I could rely on, someone I completely trust. Now, don’t get me wrong – I trust Fury. I trust a few other people, too – to a certain point. I really do. But they’re not Clint. It’s just–.. it’s not the same, y’know? They’re not Clint. They don’t know me like Clint does.”

The blond said nothing. He didn’t know where she wanted to take this conversation by giving him this information. What was she trying to say – that Steve wasn’t Clint? That he didn’t know her like Clint did? Steve stopped himself from overanalyzing her words when something clicked in his mind: what if this was her way of opening up to him? His musing was cut short as she started to speak again. This time, he would try not to overthink.

“You aren’t Clint,” she spoke tiredly and smiled when he finally turned his head to look at her. “But he isn’t you, either.” She searched his eyes for a while before she asked very softly, “But that wasn’t the reason why you left angry, was it, Steven?”

Steve felt his cheeks warming. “No,” he croaked.

Natasha nodded; there was sad understanding in her green eyes. She was silent for some time. “Don’t blame Clint,” she pleaded, softly, “He didn’t know about it. It was fully my decision. And I’d still have done it even if his life hadn’t been at stake.” She was so close to telling him that their baby had already died before the abortion, but somehow the words kept dying on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him – not now while she was still too overemotional, still unable to think about it without feeling like somebody had ripped her heart out and torn it into pieces. Besides, this wasn’t the right time or place, she excused herself.

Steve said nothing at first, at a loss for words. What had he expected to hear, anyway? He’d known that she’d never intended to keep the baby either way. And while he understood her reasons and respected her decision, he still couldn’t deny that he couldn’t accept this. He started to wonder if it was wise for him to keep pursuing her friendship while knowing that the abortion was going to be a big issue between them for a very long time. He looked away, and stared at Clint blankly.

“Did he know?” he finally asked, nodding at the unconscious man. Somehow he knew what her answer would be. “About us – about... the baby?”

Natasha chuckled. “Of course he did,” she said matter-of-factly. “He’s Clint.”

_Right_. “How did he react?”

“His first word was ‘wow’,” she recalled, “That bastard.” A small smile grazed her lips as she gazed affectionately at the sleeping figure on the bed. "He thought we'd been dating. And he was offended that I hadn’t told him."

"Yeah?" Steve posed, "What did you tell him?"

"The truth," she said, "I don't lie to him."

Steve couldn't resist. "How did he take it? I mean, knowing that we'd done it to survive?"

It amused Natasha that Steve avoided saying 'sex', but she was all business when she told him that it hadn’t been the worst thing that she or Clint had done for self-preservation on a mission. She saw something that resembled pity in his eyes, and Natasha looked away; she didn’t need any pity. "He even had the nerve to preach about safe sex and all," she added without looking at Steve.

"He-..." Steve hesitated, "Wasn't he mad at all?"

A frown marred her face at his question, knowing what he insinuated. Natasha glared at Steve with an ' _et tu Brute_ ' expression, making him blush. "I’m not fucking him if that's what you want to know," she retorted coldly.

"It's not," Steve replied apologetically, hanging his head low. "Sorry." From the corner of his eye he saw her wave a dismissive hand. "Do you love him?”

“You asked me this before,” she reminded him, not sounding in the least annoyed now. “And my answer still stands.”

"Does he love you?"

"Are we playing twenty questions, Cap?"

"No," he replied truthfully, sensing that she was beginning to get annoyed, "I was just trying to make conversation."

“Well, I don’t like this conversation.” Natasha inched away from Steve without much success due to the lack of space. “I want you to leave.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this what friendship with you is going to be? We talk and all of a sudden you decide that you don’t like the topic and you ask me to leave?”

Natasha lifted her chin defiantly. “Clint never pushes me when I don’t want to talk,” she stated. “I tell him what I want to tell him and that’s all.”

“I’m not Bar–...” Steve halted mid-sentence, swallowing hard. What good would it do anyway if he argued? He’d never be up to par with Clint in Natasha’s eyes, no matter how hard he tried. “I’m sorry,” he murmured instead and got ready to leave. But then he felt her hand on his upper arm, halting his movement. Steve turned around, confused.

“Stay,” she said quickly, hoping that it was enough to tell Steve that she was sorry. Apologies had never been her strong suit. “Please.”

He didn’t want to stay, not after she had literally compared him with another person, but Steve found himself sitting back down. He glanced at Natasha and saw that she looked relieved; he smiled and felt a little lighter.

Before either of them could say anything else, Clint began to talk again in his sleep – pleading to somebody in his dream to just stop and kill him, asking for that imaginary person to leave the children alone.

Again, Natasha repeated her phrase. Twice. Clint was still restless, as if the words had lost their meaning. She frowned and craned her neck. “Listen to me, Clint,” she added firmly after the third time – and this time Clint quieted down. Natasha sank back to the floor.

“Earlier, in the basement,” Steve began, noticing that Natasha immediately tensed at his words, “What happened in the basement, Natasha?”

“Nothing,” she lied through her teeth. She didn’t want to talk about it, not with Steve.

“I saw the dead boy,” Steve remarked and instantly regretted bringing it up when he saw her become pale. “Did he –… was he alive when you were there?”

Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat as the image of the shooting flashed in her mind. She had broken her promise to the boy – she hadn’t made those people pay; not by her hands. “I didn’t kill him,” was all that she said.

“I never said you did,” said Steve.

“But you think I could.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Steve,” Natasha said flatly.

“I don’t lie,” he replied, “And I don’t intend to start lying.”

She glared at him but said nothing. She was tired – exhausted – but she didn’t want to fall asleep; she couldn’t let herself fall asleep, not while Clint still needed her and especially not when she knew she would have nightmares. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she finally said.

“What do you want to talk about then?” Steve asked, willing to compromise.

“Can we not talk at all?”

He took a long look into her eyes before he spoke. “Sure,” he said. As he was going to look away, she called his name.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you,” she said. “It’s just…”

“I’m not Barton,” he finished for her. “I know. It’s okay, Natasha.”

Natasha shook her head. “No, Steve – it’s not that,” she corrected him. “I’m just very tired.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I’m not lying to you.”

“I know.” He smiled at her and scooted closer so that they were shoulder to shoulder. “I really do. Why don’t you try to sleep for a while? We still have a couple of hours before touch down.” He sensed her hesitance. “I’ll be here,” he assured her.

It took her a while before she finally relented and rested her head on the metal wall behind her. As she began to close her eyes, the spy was prepared for flashes of bad memories to assault her; but instead, she saw nothing but darkness. She sighed in relief.

Steve glanced at the woman next to him and was pleased that she had taken his advice. He leaned back, too, and tried to make himself as comfortable as he could get in such a place. He had just closed his eyes when she spoke. He cracked an eye open and saw that she hadn’t opened hers.

“Steven,” she called.

“Hm?”

“We will talk – about everything. Later,” she said. Then she opened her eyes and looked right into his. “Not soon; just one day. But we will.”

He smiled. “Okay,” he said. He then added, “And you will get that cheek of yours checked out. Soon. Right after we arrive in New York.” She rolled her eyes. He chuckled. “Go to sleep, ‘Tasha,” he coaxed and patted her on the knee. He froze for a split second when his hand touched her, but she didn’t shy away from. Instead, Natasha simply offered him a lopsided smile and closed her eyes.

Steve stared at his hand for a long time afterward – dumbfounded at what he’d just done and how he hadn’t lost his hand for doing it. Maybe friendship with Natasha wasn’t all thorns after all, he thought as he, too, closed his eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and yes, I'm somewhat back. I'm sorry for not updating the story for so long - I've been through a lot lately and this story isn't actually a stroll in the park. Anyway, I hope some of you are still willing to read this. 
> 
> A little warning: this chapter focuses on Clint/Natasha interaction. But I stand by my words. This story will never be a Clintasha story. 
> 
> This chapter is un-beta'ed. All mistakes are mine. Feel free to correct me on things I messed up.
> 
> Now please take some brownies as an apology for not updating sooner. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Natasha couldn’t tear her eyes off the blinking red light above the trauma room where Clint was being examined; she had been waiting there since she herself had been cleared to go by her doctor. Natasha was exhausted and she felt like there weren’t any parts of her body that didn’t hurt. Still, she refused to leave before she knew Clint’s condition.

It should have been reassuring to know that at least Clint seemed to be alert when he’d woken up some time before they had landed back in New York (he had been quite lucid when talking to Natasha), but she didn’t feel that way at all. She was still worried for Clint and his injuries, especially for his eyes; he’d be devastated if something happened to his eyes.

“Natasha.”

She turned her head on hearing Steve calling her name, frowning when she found that he was only a few paces away from her. How could she not notice him coming? Steve looked so fresh – his hair was still damp from the shower and he’d changed out of his uniform. Natasha grimaced, feeling nasty in her dirty uniform; she had to look like a tramp.

“Hey,” Natasha said tiredly, “Why are you still here?”

Steve shrugged. “How’s Barton?” He avoided her question.

“I don’t know. They’re still fixing him.” She nodded at the closed door. She knew that she’d just spoken of Clint like the archer was some broken toy, and she also knew from the way Steve raised his eyebrows that he thought the same.

“You okay?”

Natasha couldn’t help but feel annoyed at the change of tone in Steve’s voice – he sounded serious, like he was judging her. “I’ll live,” she said in a clipped tone.

“You should get some rest,” said Steve.

“You should shut up,” she mumbled under her breath, seeing from the corner of her eye that Steve expression changed; obviously, he’d heard her.

He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Are we going to argue again?”

The tired spy pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head slightly. “No, Steve,” she said, “I was just messing with you.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, unsure if Natasha was really only messing with her or if she seriously wanted him to shut up. The smile she offered to him did nothing to convince him – he knew that the woman before him was great at masking her feelings.

“Why don’t you go home, Rogers?” Natasha’s tone wasn’t unkind.

“I will if you do, too.” His reply came out before he could stop himself. He lowered his head – avoiding Natasha’s eyes – and braced himself for yet another brusque retort from the woman. When he heard a small chuckle coming from the redhead, his head whipped upwardly.

“You’re gonna have to hang around for a while, then,” said Natasha. “I’m not going anywhere before I’m sure Clint is okay.”

It was the closest thing to an invitation that Steve would ever receive from her, and he wasn’t going to miss it. “Fine by me,” he said, sitting down on one of the plastic chairs before she could change her mind.

“Suit yourself.”

* * *

  


Twelve hours later…

Natasha glanced up from her book she (pretended to) read, adjusting the icepack she’d been using for the swelling on her cheek, when she heard Clint moan from the bed. She craned her neck from where she was lounging – a very uncomfortable, small armchair by the wall – to see him stir. She didn’t move, though, not right away; she waited to see if Clint was really waking up.

When she saw that he was, Natasha put her things away and quickly moved to the bed – right on time to catch Clint’s wrist as he was starting to lift an arm to his bandaged eyes. Natasha felt him struggle weakly but she kept her grip around the appendage, firm but loose enough to let him know that she meant no harm.

“Clint,” she said, “It’s me – Natasha.”

He stopped at the sound of her voice. “Nat?”

“Yes, it’s me,” she ensured. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Natasha.” He relaxed instantly, recognizing her.

“Yes. You’re going to be okay,” she repeated, “We’re back at S.H.I.E.L.D.” She waited a second before guiding his arm to the bed and released his wrist.

The sudden lack of touch, combined with the lack of sight, made Clint panicked. “Natasha? Nat!” he almost shouted with his hoarse voice, flailing his hand to grab a hold of her in vain. His breath caught and he was starting to have an anxiety attack when he felt Natasha slid her hand on his and intertwined their fingers, letting his sweaty palm resting against her cool one.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” she spoke reassuringly.

“Okay,” he breathed out. He took several calming breaths that hurt his side like hell before his heartbeat rate returned to normal. “I’m good,” he said after a while, loosening his grip on her. “You can let go.”

Natasha gave him a squeeze before letting go. “I’m still here,” she told him once their hands were no longer touching. She took a step backward and observed the way he visibly tensed up. “I’m still here, Clint – listen to my voice,” she asked. She waited before taking another step backward, watching his reaction as she did. “It’s okay. I’m still here. You’re gonna be alright.” Another step. “We good?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he replied unsurely, “We good.” He lifted his hand to his face, wanting to touch his bandage, but Natasha’s voice stopped him.

“Now, you don’t want to do that,” she warned. “Touch the bandage and you can start to consider rechristening your codename.” Clint let out a shaky chuckle and dropped his hand immediately. “Good,” she said. The redhead walked to the bedside table, making sure that her footsteps were loud enough for Clint to know where she was, and poured a glass of water. “We really don’t need two Daredevils – Murdock is already a pain in the ass as he is.”

Clint couldn’t help but grin at the comment; of course Natasha would know that. He took the glass of water Natasha nudged into his palm and carefully brought it to his lips. “Stop watching my every movement,” he grumbled as he took a sip. He didn’t have to see to know that she was doing just that. He finished the water and waved the glass in front of him until Natasha took it away.

“Stop moving around so much,” she admonished him, “Lie still.” As Clint was doing what he was told, Natasha noticed that he was trying to feel the damage he’d suffered. She knew that the injuries was quite extensive, but she didn’t want to think about it now. This wasn’t the right time for her to feel anything.

“They did quite a number on me, didn’t they?” he finally asked when he was done with his personal assessment. His left arm was completely immobilized and he felt his fingers oddly stiff. He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it – his side was on fire. And then there were his eyes – his primary source of anxiety. He was so damn scared that they’d damaged his sight beyond repair.

Natasha took the medical report from the foot of his bed and saw him jolt from the corner of her eyes. “It’s me,” she said apologetically, forgetting for a second that she had to make some noise when moving.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, embarrassed for being so jumpy. “What did they write?”

“Nothing you haven’t guessed for yourself,” replied Natasha absently as she skimmed through the reports. “Can you move at all?”

He tried, and sucked in a pained breath.

“Okay – bad idea,” she said. “Let’s see… cracked ribs – oh, that’s classic. Hmm… broken elbow; nasty. Dislocated wrist, two broken fingers, dehydration,” she paused, “unresponsive pupils, minor retinal inflammation. Good, nothing irreparable.” She placed the file back where it belonged.

“Good.” Clint was more than relieved. He’d be able to see.

“Bask in your temporary glory, Barton – they’ll change their report once I can smack your head properly.”

Clint cringed at the sudden coldness of Natasha’s voice. It was obvious that now she’d known for sure that he was going to be okay, she’d stop repressing her fury. “I fucked up,” he admitted apologetically.

“Oh, good to know we’re on the same page,” she replied.

The heavy sarcasm didn’t fool him a bit. There was something with the way she spoke and it made Clint alert instantly. “Nat? What’s wrong?”

“They broke my cheekbone, that’s what,” she retorted.

That wasn’t what he meant and she knew it. “Natasha.”

Natasha sat on the bed and took Clint’s hand. “I thought I was going to be too late,” she whispered. She shook away the thoughts that had been pressing in at the back of her mind, ready to flood her with feelings. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“You know I’m not that easy to kill,” he said, trying to make her feel better. Truth be told, he’d been so scared, too – there were times when he thought that it would’ve been the end for him; that he would have died before anyone could have come to save him. He felt her tighten her grip on his hand and it told him that she wasn’t buying it. He tugged at her hand. “Hey, come up here, kiddo,” he invited. He forced himself to move a little to give her some space on the bed next to him.

Natasha complied without so much of a protest; she always hated when he called her ‘kiddo’ but she let it slide this time. She carefully tucked herself into the small space on the bed in order not to hurt him further and lay very still next to him.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head against his shoulder and sighed heavily. “What’s not wrong?” She had a lot of things she wanted to tell him and even more things she wanted to ask him, but she knew that she had to wait.

“Well,” he quipped nonchalantly, “I’m alive. That’s one.” He heard her huff next to him. “And I’m getting my sight back.” The archer grinned when Natasha swatted his uninjured arm. “What? You asked me what’s not wrong – I was just answering you. Now you have one fewer thing to worry about. Thank me later.”

“I fucking hate you sometimes.”

“Careful there, kiddo – you know what they say about love and hate? The line is so blurry even I can’t even take a clear shot.”

“Don’t call me ‘kiddo’, you moron – I’m older than you.”

“You’ll soon be young enough to be my grandkid if S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t stop updating your birth year,” remarked Clint lightly. She muttered something about not looking any younger by the year. “So how old are they saying you are now? You definitely don’t look any older either since the first time we met.”

“Believe me – I do,” replied Natasha, not biting the bait, “You’re just too busy flirting with your arrows to notice.”

“Fuck!” he suddenly exclaimed loudly, startling Natasha. “My bow! They got my bow! Did you find it?”

“That wasn’t my top priority, Clint,” she reminded him, making a mental reminder to ask Steve about it later, along with her gears. She frowned. Remembering this made her think about Clint’s mission again in Prague – and about the children he had kept mentioning in his sleep. She only realized that she had actually asked Clint about it when his body instantly went rigid next to her.

If Clint wanted to be honest, this wasn’t something he wanted to talk about right now. His mind was still all over the place and he was still so close to panicking. Pain he could handle – he was trained for it – but having woken up not being able to see anything terrified him.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out; he didn’t know what to say to her. He knew that Natasha would understand if he asked her to change the topic, but he couldn’t even ask for that. He struggled for words and felt how the beats of his heart quickened, pressing painfully against his injured ribs. _Okay Barton, we need to calm the fuck down_ , he thought.

The spy heard the heavy inhales and exhales of Clint’s breathing and she immediately knew that he was losing control. “Clint?” He was unresponsive. “Shit,” she muttered and quickly rolled off from the bed. “Clint!” she called again. She made sure that she wasn’t touching him; Clint always needed his space away from anyone and to crowd him would only further his panic.

The marksman had heard her the first time, but it’d taken him a while before he could respond. He growled and turned his head to the source of Natasha’s voice. “I’m okay,” he choked out, “I’m okay.” He raised a shaky hand to his forehead and wiped sheen of cold sweat on it. “Damn it – that was so close.”

“It was my fault,” Natasha said grimly. She still kept her distance to give him enough room to breathe.

“No, really – my brain was just being an ass for a second there,” he said dismissively. He inhaled carefully so as not to aggravate his ribs and failing miserably. He winced at every movement. “When can I take this fucking thing off?” he asked, tapping the corner of his bandage with a finger.

“I don’t know – a day or two, I guess.”

“It sucks.”

Natasha sighed exhaustedly, knowing that Clint wasn’t in the least alright – his acting like a petulant child showed as much. And it also showed how much pain he was really in; Natasha knew him well enough that Clint would likely complain about the most trivial things to hide where he hurt the most. Maybe it was time to stop talking. For now.

“What are you doing?” he asked in alarm when he heard her move around.

“Adjusting your morphine drip,” said Natasha casually, brushing off his protest that he’d do just fine without it and remarking that he shouldn’t have sounded so grateful if he’d wanted to convince her.

It didn’t take long for Clint to fall asleep. He tried so hard to stay awake but his own exhaustion combined with the morphine was irresistible. The last thing on his coherent mind before succumbing to slumber was that Natasha never really answered his question about what was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I kinda decided to go with the original arch story in which Natasha was injected with a serum to slow her aging and stuff. My brain is now refusing to think of an explanation, but feel free to discuss this with me. I want to know what you think. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks from behind the curtain* Hi again... sorry for not updating sooner. I've been really busy lately with work and the whole me wanting to go back to uni and all. Anyway, I wasn't going to update today. I opened the file with the resolve of writing the next chapter, but somehow I found this chapter (the one posted now). I swear I didn't remember writing it. But it was sitting there, all finished and ready to be posted. So I only needed to do a little tweaking here and there to make it (somehow) presentable.
> 
> This chapter is still heavy on Clint and Natasha, but it is relevant to the plot, I swear. 
> 
> Question: Are you guys even reading the notes, or have I been talking to myself since the beginning?

Clint furrowed his brow when Natasha started to drift off mid-sentence (again). The woman seemed to be lost in her own thoughts for a couple of seconds before finishing what she’d been meaning to say earlier like no time had passed in an awkward pause. From the fleeting look she threw him, Clint knew Natasha knew he’d noticed. He also knew she was hoping that he wouldn’t point it out, too, this time. Usually he didn’t—he would simply play along and pretend that nothing was off. Yet, this kept on going, and somehow Clint wasn’t sure that keeping quiet was still the best option.

He’d been staying at Natasha’s since he was released from medical bay (that was ten days ago). And since Natasha had been put on desk duty for disobeying a high-ranking officer as well as endangering the lives of fellow agents, they had been spending a lot of time together after work. It didn’t take an expert to pick on the change in Natasha. Clint couldn’t pinpoint what had changed, but it didn’t mean that he was oblivious to it. On the contrary, Natasha’s change had alarmed him.

This woman sitting opposite him wasn’t the same person he’d talked to before he went on his last mission. Yes, Natasha still looked the same physically; the redhead was still as sarcastic and she still said the most infuriating thing without batting an eye. Nevertheless, Clint could see that it was only a façade; this Natasha was putting a persona—and her acting now sucked.

Natasha looked like an empty shell now; there was something void in the way her eyes spoke, in her laughter. Clint couldn’t help remarking that the only times he saw her fully ‘there’ were when she talked about work-related stuff. Even then there was no passion in her words. She was so… hollow. And it worried him more that he wanted to admit—because this was Natasha; she didn’t do hollow.

Of course Clint wasn’t stupid; he’d had some suspicions that the change in his friend had something to do with Natasha’s losing her baby. But didn’t Natasha not want the baby? So what was the big deal, right? Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to ask. How would he, when she didn’t seem to want to talk to him? For as long as he could remember, they’d always respected each other’s privacy: if one didn’t want to bring up a topic, the other wouldn’t ask. The archer was unwilling to be the first to break the unspoken pact which sealed their trust for years.

“Okay, Barton – spill!” Natasha’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Clint blinked in confusion. “Huh? Spill what?”

“Don’t play stupid,” said Natasha, rolling her eyes. “You haven’t been listening to a single word I said. And you keep staring at me—that’s never a good sign. Spill.” Not giving the man a chance to speak, the spy continued, “Your eyes are fine, so that can’t be the problem. Or is there a problem I don’t know? Your elbow and fingers are healing nicely, aren’t they? And I think Steve told me he’s returned your bow, so that can’t be it. Or are you—”

“So, ‘Steve’ now, huh?” Clint cut her off, seizing an opening.

“—having PTSD... What?”

“Steve? You just said ‘Steve’,” he pointed out.

“That’s his name,” replied Natasha nonchalantly. “I can’t believe that that’s your take from the whole thing I said.”

Natasha’s expression remained impassive as Clint studied her for a second. That was expected, of course—she was too good at this to show any emotions. Yet, the slight change in her pupils didn’t escape Clint’s trained eyes. “You called him ‘Rogers’ just a few weeks ago, and that’s also his name,” he said matter-of-factly, trying his best to keep his tone light.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbled darkly, making a move to stand.

“Nat.” Clint grabbed her wrist but only holding it loosely, relenting when Natasha pulled away. He stood up and followed her to the living room. “Nat, talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“What happened between you and Rogers when I was away?”

_A lot_. “Nothing.” The answer was too fast. Natasha took a deep breath before turning to face Clint. “Nothing, okay?”

He looked for a sign of lie on her face but there was none. What did he expect? Clint sighed, “Not okay, Nat.”

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose and counted to ten. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Why did everyone keep pushing her to talk? First Steve, then Pepper—and now Clint too. “What do you want from me, Clint?” she asked in defeat.

Clint opened his mouth but then realized that he didn’t really know what he was going to say. For a split second he was thinking that it was better if he dropped the subject. But when he looked at Natasha’s eyes, he could see a scream for help.

“I want you to be honest with me,” he said finally.

The woman gave him an enigmatic smile. “I’m always honest with you, Clint.”

_Never completely_ , he thought. “You know I care about you, don’t you?”

“I do.” She never doubted that.

“You know all I want is for you to be happy, don’t you?”

She chuckled dryly. “Happiness is overrated, Barton.”

Her voice sounded so sad and tired that Clint was again at a loss of words. He contemplated his next move while mentally berating himself for not thinking first before delving into the subject. As a spy, he was trained to assess the situation from afar before executing his move—and now he knew he needed to regroup. But he also knew that if he did the door to this topic would close forever.

“Are you going to start forcing me to speak too?”

Clint snapped out of his musing. The way Nat posed the question intrigued him. He shook his head, telling her that he didn’t understand.

“Steve,” she paused, “ _Rogers_ always asked me questions I don’t want to answer. I told him you would never do that to me.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Are you going to, now?”

Was he going to? Clint swallowed hard, knowing that his answer could change the dynamics between Natasha and him if she didn’t like what he had to say. “Yes,” he whispered and lowered his eyes, bracing for the impact of his words.

“Good,” the redhead whispered back in a choked tone. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears as Clint lifted his eyes back to meet hers. “Good—‘cause I’m tired of holding it in.”

* * *

 

They spent the whole afternoon lying in Natasha’s couch; he was spooning her and occasionally kissed the top of her head as she told him about everything: her verbal arguments with Steve, one of which lead to her almost killing him; the leave of absence she took to terminate her pregnancy only to find that her baby was dying anyway; her silly little relapse as she hoped for a miracle that the baby would live; and the day of the abortion. She droned on as if she was recounting a case report.

Clint listened silently. Even when Natasha had finished talking he didn’t say a word. There was nothing to be said; nothing that could lessen the pain Natasha must have been feeling. No wonder the woman was like an empty shell—it had to take a toll bottling this kind of pain all the time.

It seemed like forever before Natasha finally spoke again. “Steve doesn’t know the baby died before the abortion.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Clint asked, his voice hoarse like he hadn’t been using it for a long time. He sighed when she shrugged. “You seriously want to let him believe that you aborted your baby instead of telling him the truth?”

“It’d make no difference—the baby is dead either way.”

He released his hug on her, shifting so that he could see her face. “Really, Nat?” He couldn’t believe what she was just saying.

“He’s better off not knowing,” Natasha said, “And it’s over now.”

“Yeah, keep saying that. Maybe one day you’ll believe that too.”

“Are you blaming me for not saying anything?”

“No.”

“No? Really? Cause it sounds like you are,” Natasha raised her voice in aggravation. “You know what—“

The sound of the doorbell interrupted her mid-sentence. The pair exchanged glances; not many people knew where Natasha lived, and they weren’t expecting any company, either.

They were on their feet in an instant—Natasha swiftly grabbed her gun as she moved to close all the blinds while Clint headed to see the surveillance. She glanced at him and saw him raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Rogers,” Clint announced, not hiding surprise in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you need any brownies this time?
> 
> Another thing: my stupid internet provider blocked fanfiction.net for no reason and even though I swear never to post again there, it still pisses me off.


	15. Chapter 15

Steve fidgeted at the door, shifting from one foot to the other as he waited. Waiting for what? That was a good question—he didn’t even know what he was waiting for. On the one hand he wanted Natasha to open the door for him, but then what? The other (bigger) part of him dreaded the prospect of the door actually being opened. What was he thinking? This was such a bad idea.

He used all his willpower not to glance at the well-placed surveillance camera Natasha must have had installed (seriously, like civilians would have access to that kind of tech!), feeling suddenly self-conscious. Should he just leave? He’d stood there long enough to embarrass himself by then—if Natasha were at home and willing to let him in, she’d have done so already. He counted to ten before finally taking a step away from the door, and, after counting to ten again, he took another step. Then another. And another. His eyes were fixed to the closed door, purposely avoiding looking directly at the camera.

It wasn’t until several steps away from the door did he finally turn around, smiling dejectedly at his folly—what was he thinking, indeed. He walked slowly; busy with his own thought that at first he didn’t register the buzzing sound of the door being unlocked behind him. He kept walking until he thought he heard someone calling his name.

He turned his head to the source of the voice and found Natasha standing at the doorway, looking at him with a slight frown. Steve swallowed when she closed the door and walked toward him; he was sure he’d overstepped a boundary and Natasha would give him hell for it.

“Where are you going?”

Steve blinked. The question was unexpected. “I thought you weren’t home,” he replied too quickly, cringing inwardly as it was one of the worst lies he’d told.

“I’m being suspended, remember?” she said as if it was enough explanation. “And I happen to have to babysit for a bird.”

It was a subtle way of her to say that Clint was upstairs. “Right,” he said, understanding. “I’m just gonna—“

“Clint is cooking dinner. Why don’t you come up and join us?”

“Huh?”

Natasha shrugged. “Well, you’re here. There’s enough food to feed an army. And I’m getting tired of listening to Clint babbling about his aging bones.”

“I’m okay, really,” Steve refused. “I should just go.” He reckoned it would be one hell of an awkward dinner between the three of them.

“Or we could take a walk?”

Judging from the widening of her eyes, Steve knew that she was as surprised at her own words as he was. And before his brain could even process what she’d just said, Natasha had gone back inside the building to get her phone and tell Clint they were going for a walk. He was still standing at the same spot when she returned a few minutes later with her hair tied back into a messy ponytail and wearing a large grey sweater over her t-shirt.

They walked side by side in comfortable silence for a while. Steve kept stealing glances at her, thinking how different Natasha was without her catsuit. She looked more relaxed… and so young. He’d never thought about it before but now he wondered how old Natasha really was, and how old he actually was despite his look. She couldn’t be older than thirty-something. He was almost ninety-seven. _Damn_! Steve felt queasy as realization hit him—she was young enough to be his granddaughter.

Natasha noticed the almost imperceptible change in Steve’s body language; she could sense how the man walking next to her suddenly tensed up. She looked around without moving her head so much, mistaking Steve’s reaction to him sensing threat. However, she didn’t see anything nor did she hear anything. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Steve nearly jumped at Natasha’s voice. He was lost in his train of thoughts that he forgot that he wasn’t alone. “Nothing.” He shook his head, avoiding Natasha’s curious gaze.

“That’s the second lie you told me in fifteen minutes,” Natasha pointed out. _And you said you didn't lie_. “I don’t like being lied to.”

The blond sighed. “I was just thinking.”

“Of?”

Steve looked at her. “That’s private,” he retorted sharply.

For a while their eyes locked. Then Natasha looked away and continued walking. “Right,” she said, nodding. “Sorry.” She stopped walking when she realized that Steve wasn’t following her. The redhead turned around, tilting her head in question.

“I should go,” Steve said somberly. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

Somehow Steve’s answer ignited Natasha’s anger. “What the hell, Rogers?!” she snapped. “I said sorry, didn’t I?”

“Natasha, I didn’t come here to fight with you,” Steve said.

“Yeah? Well, why are you even here, then?”

Steve considered lying again, but every lie he was about to say seemed worse than the previous so he decided to say the truth. “I don’t know.” He shook his head when Natasha snorted in disbelief. “I honestly don’t know, Natasha.”

“Then maybe you should leave.”

“Yes, maybe I should.” Neither of them moved. Steve rubbed the back of his neck, feeling so drained. “Come on,” he said in the end, “let me walk you home.”

“I am perfectly capable of walking home on my own, thank you very much. I am not a dog.”

“I didn’t say—“ he paused mid-sentence, understanding what Natasha was trying to do. She was trying to reel him in, trying to get him to tell her what’s on his mind. He’d seen enough recording of her doing the same thing to her targets. He inhaled and counted to five. “I’ll just leave now. Sorry I ruined your evening,” he apologized.

* * *

 

“And then he left me just like that!” Natasha ended her story hotly, stabbing her pasta with her fork with more force than necessary. She glared at Clint across the table. “Shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it, and that’s worse.”

Clint chuckled, shaking his head amusedly. “You know what’s funny?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “From what you told me before, it was him who’s always wanted to talk. And you hated him for it. Now he doesn’t want to talk. Shouldn’t you be, like, happy about it instead of yelling bloody murder?”

“Clint, I can kill you with this pasta if you don’t shut up,” she threatened. “And I am not angry.”

“Yeah, you’re just furious. Po-ta-to, po-tay-to.”

The beeping of both their phones stopped whatever Natasha was going to say (and do). Recognizing the notification tone, they quickly geared up without so much at looking at the message. Natasha grabbed their phones on the way out and glanced at the screen. There was only one word in the message, written in all capitals.

HYDRA.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Take a brownie, please, in case I traumatize you.


End file.
